


I'll Give You All My Futures

by Captain_Jane_Harkness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 194,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jane_Harkness/pseuds/Captain_Jane_Harkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione goes back to the Final Battle to save the one person who she believes shouldn’t have been allowed to die, even knowing that she’ll be ripping herself from every other timeline. AU from beginning of epilogue on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: The Thin Line Between Genius and Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted through my friend's FF.net account. A certain favorite couple from OUaT however has given me the determination and dedication to finish everything I originally plotted out with this couple. :)
> 
> This story is still unbeta-ed, if anyone wants to jump in just message me!

_"He can’t believe it, he says people seem even more interested in this than the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" -Luna Lovegood_

February, 2003 

Hermione Granger sighed as she twirled her quill between her fingers. How she had been convinced to come to this gathering, she would never know. The convention of witches and wizards in the room milling about were some of the most ostracized in the wizarding world. A witch walked past her jangling with overpriced glass crystals and talking to a small hand mirror that she held in her left hand. She was going to kill Ginny and Harry. A scowl was starting to make its way on her face as she narrowly ducked under a wizard trying to control a flying creature on a leash that she couldn’t possibly identify. Definitely illegal breeding, she thought as the scowl definitely manifested itself as she followed him with her eyes as he disappeared into the milling crowd, making a mental note.

“Hermione!” a voice called over the crowd.

Turning quickly with a smile, Hermione felt a supreme sense of relief at seeing Luna walking towards her. Seeing her in her everyday robes was still somewhat of a shock to her. Today Luna was wearing powder-blue floor length robes with rather ostentatiously stitched stars in shining red thread. Hermione truly pitied the one who had originally thought that they wouldn’t cause a migraine for anyone looking at them. Luna clasped Hermione’s hands with her customary smile that seemed to reflect what was going on in her head than in front of her face.

"We’re so glad that you could come to my father’s presentation. It’s quite his best one yet you understand. He wouldn’t even put it in The Quibbler until he presented it. He’s so excited on what they’ll all say,” Luna said excitedly, at least for her, since her voice never rose.

Hermione managed a smile and started absentmindedly twirling her quill between her fingers again as soon as Luna had released her hands, before saying, “You know Luna, I don’t even know what he’s going to speak about.”

"That’s the surprise for everyone you know. Here, Daddy reserved a seat for you up front," Luna said, steering her past a rather rotund witch that, after she looked back, Hermione realized was actually a wizard.

So much for hiding in the back rows that she could slip out early. Settling her mauve colored robes around her, Hermione sat in the seat that was rather obnoxiously calling out her name.

"It’ll stop as soon as you sit down," Luna had explained. "Unless you weren’t you. Then it would start screaming."

For some reason, she couldn’t shake the awful feeling that something wrong was going to happen here. The war had been over for years now, granted four years, but that was the only type of feeling that she could possibly compare it too. She began to nervously tap her quill against the pad that she now had propped on her knees.

"Psst," a voice hissed behind her.

Hermione turned, slightly annoyed, to find a tiny wizard behind her, his eyes flitting around the room. He shook his head at her.

"You’re frightening the nargles," he said, pointing upwards as his head twitched.

Hermione turned forward abruptly, biting her lip angrily. Blast it all, when I find Harry, I’ll throttle him, she thought. Sitting here with a bunch of ninny-minded, ignorant, stupid… Thankfully her inner tirade was cut off by a blast of pea-soup colored and scented smoke that clouded over the audience from the short stage in front of the line of chairs.

Coughing and sputtering, Hermione waved a hand in front of her now tearing eyes to see Luna’s father appear on the stage, seemingly unaffected by his own entrance.

"Welcome friends!" Xenophilius Lovegood called to thunderous applause from his audience.

He waited until they calmed and the smoke cleared completely before he began his speech. He made his way about the stage in a strange prancing, hopping manner, that Hermione thought clearly matched his neon green robes, white hair, and crossed blue eyes.

"We shall now be discussing a topic that I have spent the last several years, nay, decades, attempting to study. The wizarding world has always sought to study the different facets of time, but they have neglected a very important occurrence! I have chosen to go forward in this research to further better the lives of my fellow colleagues in spirit. I have chosen the most elusive occurrences to study within time! Time Rips!"

Murmured awe swept through the crowd as Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes skyward. Time Rips were an illusion that some wizarding scholars sought to study for funding from institutions and universities. In the end, the so-called “scholars” turned in their research to university that was entirely rubbish after living all-expense paid years in comfortable housing with ample food. Even thinking this though, Hermione whispered the spell so that her inkless quill, spelled by herself, began to transcribe his speech to her pad.

"For centuries, Time Rips were impossible to detect until I made a very valuable discovery, some fifteen years or so ago. The actualities of Time Rips are this, we should not be able to detect them! And in this, I discovered how. Since we are in this stream of time," Hermione glanced behind him to where a glowing board akin to a Muggle blackboard, now had a stream of solid gold pulsing in a horizontal line behind him, "there is no way for us to notice Rips. But certain people," a black dot appeared on the pulsing line, "cause Time Rips.”

Hermione frowned and leaned forward slightly in her chair. She’d never actually heard this theory before.

"Up until now, Time Rips were either quickly dismissed or thought to occur because of events. Hartlis Diertwater once thought that they were caused by rising zodiac constellations paired with unusual activities of unicorns," some heads in the audience nodded sagely at this, "But in truth, Rips are caused by us!

"Monumental decisions made by individualscan cause Rips and this is how I discovered it. Regretfully I must say, and will not tell you the circumstances, but with the aid of this device,” he held up a momentous hourglass hung about his neck that looked to be ornate faux jewelry when Hermione had first seen it. “A Time Rip was able to take place before my eyes! And quite a powerful Rip it was!”

Hermione could barely hide a smirk at that.

"Now to actually track these Rips, I went back to Ancient Greece where it gave me my first clue. Documented Ancient Greece of course," he chortled a bit, "When one of the few Oracles at Delphi, one reputed to have the best predictions, suddenly disappeared. A simple disappearance to those who do not know what to look for! Before her so-called disappearance, she gave a prediction to the King of Crete that would later cause him to lose a war, but before she told him her interpretation of her own prediction, she wrote – I shall do everything in my power to make this not come about– but it did, because he went to war and his armies slaughtered mercilessly.

"About the Oracle? I tell you this, gathered friends, she did convince the King! The event of telling him actually caused a rip in time," behind him the gold line split and the black dot jumped to the other golden stream, "which led him to stay and home and conquer the invading force which was to come!

"The Oracle was actually a reputed witch who did not need hallucinogens for her predictions, she rather relied on divination. When she caused that Rip, she left our stream of time for another, for the person causing the Rip cannot exist in two different streams of time."

Hermione’s mind was whirling at the possibilities. She had always been intrigued by the Muggle theory of multiple parallel dimensions, his theory wasn’t actually that far off. He continued to speak, but now she was lost in her own head, thinking of the research that she could do at home, the books that she could use to find out what to look for… The books she could write… The quill on her pad scribbled on, pausing only long enough to jab her hand to make her turn the page.

Her joyous prospects of research were brought to a screaming halt as her eyes caught her left hand.

"I know it’s not much, but Bill already got Granny Weasley’s ring and…"

Hermione stopped him with a quiet hand on his arm. “It’s perfect Ron. It’s better.”

The tiny gold engagement band held only a single tiny ruby. It was pretty and sentimentally sweet, but predictable. She hated how disappointed she was because it was just so her and she wasn’t sure she liked that. But she waspractical, wasn’t she?

She began pushing it around her finger. Ron had never liked it when she lost herself in shelves of books. Accepting his proposal hadn’t changed how he felt about it either. Not touching books constantly was leading to a lot of nervous habits, she was noticing, as she firmly stopped playing with her ring. She could do some research. It wouldn’t kill him.

Thunderous applause tore open the room as Mr. Lovegood started bowing on the stage. Much to her own surprise, Hermione joined in.


	2. Chapter 2: To Calm a Racing Heart

  


  
_It's a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up. - J.K. Rowling_ ; Goblet of Fire

_  
_

_**Five Months Ago** _

**September, 2002**

Maybe Hermione was just getting bored with her job, but there really were some days when she longed for the days of danger that had encompassed every year of her life at Hogwarts. If it wasn't for the variety of magical creature histories she had lying about her small flat she would definitely be bored. There just wasn't enough work for her here. After the major breakthrough that her team had made in developing a confidential messaging system for magical creatures in unwanted servitude, Hermione had almost no work. It made it difficult to go into work some days.

Leaning back in her desk chair, she closed her eyes with a sigh. Suddenly she sat up abruptly, breathing quickly. Rubbing her chest, she felt her heart pound wildly in her chest. She'd gotten something similar a few months ago, but it hadn't lasted this long.

"Hermione, you alright?"

"Belinda," Hermione said, spinning quickly to one of her fellow workers, "Yes, I'm fine."

Whatever the flutter was, it had passed. The conversation quickly turned to the three claims that had been made over the weekend that their department had to go over and address. Two house elves and a goblin. The paperwork was tedious, but she would actually have to do some legwork on the one house elf case. At least it was something.

  


  
__  
**Four Months Ago October, 2002**   


Preparations for Halloween were in full swing at the Burrow. Molly had really outdone herself. Paper bats occasionally took off from the rafters if you startled them too quickly. Pumpkins sang rather obnoxious lyrics. Orange and black decorations were everywhere. Hermione loved her parents' world, but really, no one did Halloween like a witch. It made her giddy that it was only a week away.

"Hermione! So glad you came to help dear. You know the way the boys will be when it's actually time for the party. Drive me half mad and back again," Molly said, bustling her in.

Ever since she and Ron had started really dating, and honestly ever since Harry and Ginny had gotten married, Mrs. Weasley would use any little excuse to invite her over the Burrow. Even if it was chaotic she didn't really mind. She was starting to mind the looks though that, at this point, Ron seemed to be getting at every possible opportunity.

"And Merlin's beard, when the children get here," Molly said as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Hermione to look around for places to clean.

Since she had been to help last Christmas, the two witches had an understanding of sorts. Hermione was still very Muggle when it came to things like cooking. Her mother loved that the only magic Hermione actually used in the house was to clean dishes, both women found it to be the most tedious chore. Since Mrs. Weasley worked wonders with kitchen magic, and with so many to feed all the time it was little wonder, Hermione took charge of cleaning the rooms.

As she spelled two sweaters, one sock, three pairs of boots, and a stack of opened Weasley products, to the laundry, back porch, and garbage respectively she couldn't help but wonder if it was time.

Halloween would be an easy holiday for her parents to meet the Weasley clan. Her father was a bit uncomfortable about magic, ever since the Final Battle. Though her mother had understood, even accepted, her daughter's decision but realizing that they had lived an entire year as other people had hit her father very hard. It had taken awhile before they were able to talk like they had before. She knew that her father would warm to Mr. Weasley quickly enough though.

"Mum, Dad?"

Hermione grinned as excited yells echoed throughout the house. Ginny's arrival always had that reaction.

As she rounded the corner, she saw the younger woman completely engulfed in one of her mother's hugs. When Hermione caught her friend's eye over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder she mouthed an exaggerated 'help me'.

Ever since Ginny had started touring with the Holyhead Harpies she'd barely had enough time for her honeymoon, much less too many house visits. That was one distinct advantage to magical life, Hermione thought with a grin. With the exceptions of match games of course, Ginny was able to apparate from wherever she was to spend her nights at home with Harry.

"Marriage and Quidditch really do suit you, you know that right?" Hermione said with a grin after Mrs. Weasley released her daughter to run back into the kitchen to silence an alarm.

It did suit her. Ginny still maintained the figure she'd had in school, though her arms and legs were now toned with strong and limber muscle from being a Chaser. Her hair was pulled back in a tail, jeans showed off her legs, and the navy sweater helped to show off her more mature curves.

Ginny grinned, "Harry's really been fantastic about it. I think it's only because he likes to brag about the box seats I let him give away to his co-workers. Like he couldn't get them on his own with a flash of his bloody forehead."

"I heard that Ginerva! Mind your mouth!"

Both women laughed before Ginny followed Hermione upstairs to help with the cleaning.

"Where is Harry anyway? I'd assumed with a Burrow visit, he'd be coming with you," Hermione said, charming a broom and tray to start sweeping.

"Funny thing that," Ginny said, sitting on her old bed. "He got this _look_ on his face when he got the message to go in. Aurors do work funny hours sometimes, you know."

"As funny as Quidditch players?" Hermione asked, going to sit next to her.

"Ya, and almost as dangerous," Ginny said with a frown.

Silence fell as both of their minds turned towards darker thoughts.

"Sorry, didn't mean to do that," Ginny said after a second. "Happy thoughts, it's almost Halloween. How are things getting on with that git brother of mine. He proposed yet?"

"Ginny!" Hermione half yelled with a grin.

"Don't be like that, you know you're thinking it," Ginny said as she stood, levitating the now finished broom to follow the two of them to the next room. "Besides, it's almost embarrassing that he hasn't asked you yet- I know he wants to. Such a bloody slow mover!"

"GINERVA!" Molly Weasley's voice echoed from downstairs.

Ginny paused in the hall. "You know, it's been _years_ and I still don't know how she does that."

Hermione laughed as they went into the room that Bill and Fleur would be staying in. Bill had been able to get a few days so they'd be in early with the baby. Transfiguring the extra chest of drawers into a crib, Hermione nudged Ginny to start with the sweeping. Downstairs, they heard another commotion as someone arrived through the Floo.

"I can't help if I'm not really ready yet either," Hermione said. "I mean, he's met my parents, they approve and all, but they haven't really met everyone here yet you know?"

Ginny gave her a sideways grin, "You know who I think I hear downstairs now? Maybe I should just bully him into it."

"Gin, don't," Hermione started, but Ginny was already off, running for the stairs with Hermione close behind.

Hermione managed to catch up to her on the stairs, but nearly ran into her at the foot of them. Harry and Mrs. Weasley were talking at the entrance to the kitchen. When Molly looked at her, Hermione knew something terrible had happened. Harry wouldn't meet her eyes. Her heart almost stopped, worried that Ron had been hurt somehow. Her panic doubled though when Ron came into view, his eyes red and full of tears that hadn't fallen yet.

"Ron?" Hermione asked.

"I'm so sorry Hermione, you've gotta believe me," Ron said, almost choking on the words.

"Ron, you're scaring me, what's happened?" she asked, going to stand in front of him.

"We got a tip with a location on the Carrows," Harry said, Ginny going over and slipping under his arm. "Some… anonymous source. We get them sometimes. It said what the target would be, but, we... We didn't get there in time."

"Where? What target? In time for what?" Hermione asked, her voice rising as little voices of denial and panic started screaming in her head. She turned to look at Ron.

He took a shaky breath in, "Your parents Hermione. They targeted your house."

  
_  
**Three Months Ago** _ **November, 2002**

Everyone had been surprised when Hermione returned to work the week after Halloween. Everyone, surprisingly, but Ginny. The now Mrs. Potter had simply told her that if she needed someone to talk to who wasn't Ron, her door was open. Hermione had even gotten a reassurance that Harry would allow himself to be kicked out at a moment's notice if necessary, which had startled her into a laugh. Ginny was the only one who wasn't treating her like she was made of glass, ready to break if they said or did something wrong. So she was also the one who supported her when she went back to work.

"It's an easy way to make yourself not think about bad things," Ginny had said. "Keeps you focused on the little things. Things that matter, but that distract you from having to deal with everything else."

The Weasleys had offered her a room at the Burrow for her to stay in if she didn't want to be alone. She'd refused. She didn't want to walk past their pitying faces at every turn. Or to have the reminder of Ron still living there. Maybe if her independence hadn't prompted her to get her own flat then…

Hermione found herself wiping away a tear, even though she'd sworn that she wouldn't cry at work. She had tried to keep the news as contained as possible, but it wasn't everyday Muggles were killed under the Dark Mark. Not these days. Their deaths had made the papers.

What had made it worse was the fact that there hadn't even been bodies to bury. The wards hadn't even been tripped. They had come, set her world upside down, and vanished. If it hadn't been for the trace spells lingering in the air for the Aurors to pick up it would have almost been like they had gone on holiday. Except her mother would never have left the kettle on. And her father would never have left a book he was in the middle of behind.

Hermione had sworn. She had sworn that no one she knew would be killed after the war. It had been bad enough cleaning up and burying the bodies after the Battle of Hogwarts. Now? Now she didn't even have gravestones for them.

Her extended family didn't understand. She didn't even want to explain it to them. None of them knew she was a witch. None of them knew that her parents were gone because she was Hermione Granger, witch, fighter in the Second Wizarding War that brought down Voldemort. She had had to go through the Muggle system, file a police report, talk to officers. Talk to her family. Listen to their hopes that they would be found. That they were missing, presumed kidnapped for reasons unknown.

She hadn't believed it at first either. She had demanded to see the Auror reports. She went over the spells. Spells that lined up as connecting with bodies. A Muggle recipient of a spell glowed a different color than a wizard or witch. Torture spells had connected with Muggles. But though two Killing Curses had been cast, it didn't show the color signature of the recipients. Everyone assumed… Looking at the evidence, she knew what they assumed. It wasn't carved in an iron placard, but even Hermione had to admit how fruitless a search would be.

Sighing, Hermione propped elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands. The world wasn't built on if onlys. They were gone. She had to move on. Even as she coached those thoughts in her head, she still had to keep swallowing down tears.

Hermione jumped suddenly as her heart started racing again. Her breathing quickened to match it as she looked around, trying to see if anyone else was reacting the same way. Closing her eyes, she tried slowing her breathing down. _In and out, come on Hermione, calm down,_ she coached. Eventually it passed. Looking at the time piece she kept in her desk corner, she frowned. This one had been longer. She had dismissed the first one as nothing, but two? Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on work. There were reports to file and paperwork to fill out. Maybe she could convince her boss that she was in fact, _fine_ , and he would let her go out interviewing today.

  
__**Two Months Ago December, 2002**  


The weeks approaching Christmas were the hardest. Hermione couldn't bring herself to decorate. All of her ornaments, even her tree, had been in her parents' house. She found herself crying at stupid things. Like putting tea on the stove, the Muggle way. It had always been her way, but now it felt like her mother's way. Officially, the Grangers were still listed as missing. It would be that way for months. Officially. She almost thought it would be easier if they _had_ found bodies. Thinking that though made her want to cry again.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Walking over, she found herself almost chanting, _don't be Ron, don't be Ron, don't be Ron._

Ron had been wonderful. He came over at the perfect interval with food wrapped up with love from Molly Weasley. He surprised her with flowers at work "for no reason in particular." Every so often, he'd pop by with plans to go see a show, or just dinner. The one that had surprised her the most had been a lecture in the beginning of November on new ways of constructing Potions using Elvenlark. But every time, she had to put up with _the_ face. The face that told her he was weighing every word that came out of his mouth. The face that told her every time he looked at her he blamed himself. The face that pitied her, and himself.

Checking the peephole, Hermione relaxed back with a sigh.

"I brought wine, cheesecake, and chess," Ginny said with a smile. "We need a girls' night."

Hermione smiled, "Thanks Gin, come on in."

Thankfully, Ginny let her pretend that nothing was wrong. She wasn't sure how hard Ginny had to act to keep it up, but Hermione was grateful just the same. They giggled over details about Harry and Ron that both men would probably have been both shocked and embarrassed if they found out had been shared.

"Ugh, I'm so glad he stopped doing that," Ginny said with a laugh as she refilled both of their glasses. "Mum used to want to clock him over the head with a broom when she caught him. Seriously, clipping toenails at the kitchen table? It was disgusting, let me tell you."

Hermione shuddered, "I agree."

"So what's going on with you two now? Has he been good?"

Hermione swirled the wine around in her glass. "As good as can be expected I guess. I snapped at him a few times when I really shouldn't have. He made comments about me continuously reading, of all things. I said a few things that I shouldn't have. It was a long day, and I've been working on it. I don't read when he comes over to visit really anymore."

"How's that going?" Ginny asked, grabbing another bite of cheesecake.

"Better," Hermione said, "Better with us anyway. I mean, it's harder when he stays over, because it's longer that I go without it. It's how I relax, you know? I don't know. Am I being unreasonable?"

"No, not at all!" Ginny said. "I think he's being a bit of a prick about it actually. It's not like he can say that this wasn't who you were before."

"Have you and Harry had any spats like that?" Hermione asked, almost not believing that she was asking for advice from the girl she had actually _given_ advice to about her now husband.

The soft and almost dreamy smile that crossed Ginny's face made her feel a stab of envy.

"Not really. I mean, I've been myself, from start to finish. Well," Ginny nudged her, "Ever since I took your advice to relax. Spot on, by the way. Harry just accepts me and I accept him. I've never really seen him as anything but who he was. I mean ya, there was a time that I had an absolutely huge crush on him that wasn't based in reality by any stretch of the imagination, but when I actually got to know him, really know him? That's when I started respecting who he was and admiring what he could do. There was a time when I thought he was being a right prick too, don't get me wrong, but… He worked past it. He got through it. And then he saw me.

"From what I've found, guys… Guys need to get it together first. Girls can't help them. Girls can't change them. They change when they're ready, not even when we need them to. They don't change for girls. They change, and then they're open to the right girl. Does that make sense?"

Hermione grinned sheepishly, looking at the carpet they sat on, "When did you get so wise?"

Ginny laughed. "You helped. And Mum. And Harry too, though sometimes only in spite of himself. Also, when you have a lot of bad relationships, you learn to know what you're looking for. And what you never, ever, want to have again. Harry was there right when I decided what I wanted. It was a small miracle it itself actually. And he didn't have any of the things I wasn't looking for. And he had almost everything I did."

"Almost everything?" Hermione asked.

"I had to teach him how to give a good massage. He was horrid at it at first," Ginny said with such a straight face that Hermione couldn't help laughing.

Seconds later Ginny joined in.

Hermione had actually been anxious at Ginny's invitation over to the Burrow for dinner the next night, but she knew that her promises were sincere.

"Hermione, I solemnly swear that no one will treat you like a delicate china cup for the entire night. I made them all promise. It'll be a beautiful bubble of fine, I promise you," she had said, toasting her with her wine glass.

As she bundled up to apparate (she had a working Floo, but she preferred snow to Floo powder on her robes any day), she still wasn't sure. She wasn't sure why, but she'd dressed up a little for the occasion. It wasn't Christmas yet, but she was determined to not let anything ruin her holiday. Or ruin anything for that matter. She'd come to that realization the other night. If she let the actions of some good for nothing Death Eating sympathizers, or Death Eaters in truth, depress her, or keep her down, it was like letting them win twice. She'd let them win once. They wouldn't get her again.

When she saw the reaction to her outfit when she walked in the door, she knew that she'd made the right choice. Shaking snow off her outer robe, she grinned as a bunch of male redheads had their jaws drop.

"Hermione, you look…" Ron started.

"Amazing, he means to say amazing," George said with a grin, coming up and clocking his brother on the back of the head.

From behind the boys, she saw Ginny wink on Harry's arm. The dress had been Ginny's idea. They had gone shopping on one of her free days. The dress was casual, technically, in fabric. It was a cotton blended with something magical, because it was warm enough to wear out in even this weather. But that's where the practicality ended. It only swirled over one shoulder and hugged her tight all the way down to her hips only to flar out with an uneven hem . The left side had as small flare of fabric at her ankle, the right went up to her knee. The fabric was actually longer at the back as well, keeping the length almost until the side hem. It was also a brilliant Christmas red.

"How've you been George?" Hermione asked with a smile, receiving a hug and a kiss from the older Weasley.

"Perfect as ever I'll have you know. Even better since my brother finally got his ghost name." George said with a grin. "Cause you know, no ghost gets their own, of course. Humans give 'em out. And most ghosts hate 'em."

"Do I even want to know?" Hermione asked.

"DEAD FRED!" Fred yelled, popping into existence behind his twin. "How unoriginal _ARE_ people?"

"Aren't you supposed to keep to the shop?" George asked, "Aint it some kind of rule?"

"I'm not haunting the bloody shop," Fred continued, following George as he left the room.

"It gets weirder and weirder, believe me," Ron said. "And you do look… amazing, Hermione. Really, you do."

"Thanks Ron," Hermione said with a smile, reaching in for a hug and quick peck before their audience could make comments. "You don't look so bad yourself, what's the occasion?"

"Hm? Oh! No occasion," Ron said, a bit nervously. "Come in more though, you're hands are freezing."

Dinner passed exactly as Ginny had promised. No one brought up Death Eaters, Aurors, her parents, the holidays, and most importantly, no one looked at her like she was an abandoned puppy.

"Come on then George, help with the dishes," Mrs. Weasley said.

"You know what the worst part about Fred being all ghostly now?" George asked, leaning over to whisper in Hermione's ear.

"What?" she whispered back.

"We can't pretend to be each other anymore, she knows I have to be George."

"GEORGE!" Mrs. Weasley called again.

"Yes Majesty!" he answered , winking at Hermione and going to follow the crowd.

"Hermione?"

Hermione stopped stacking dishes to look back at Ron whose ears were slowly turning redder by the second.

"Yes, Ron, what's the matter?"

"C'mere a second, I want to show you something," he said taking her hand.

Letting herself be led away with only a half-hearted protest, "she won't mind, believe me, I've been working overtime for her this past week", he led her to the added back porch of the Burrow.

Faelights had been strung up and conjured into all of the trees along the back. Evergreens had been sporadically transported around the grounds, strung with more of the blinking lights. It was the peaceful kind of cold where they could see their breath and see the snow, but not feel immediately frozen.

"Watch," he said with a shy smile. "Try not to critique it too much."

Flicking his wand and muttering something under his breath, the lights began to dance. The yellow glowing lights flickered in and out, as if to music, red chased some of the yellow lights, blinking in and out of existence. Green lights started appearing, joining the rest of the dance in the trees.

"Ron, it's amazing!" Hermione said with a smile.

Poinsettias began blooming in lights on the trees, then spinning. Slowly, each flower folded in one by one, leaving the yard in darkness.

"That was amazing," Hermione said, turning to him.

"It's not done yet," he said, nodding back to the trees.

Turning with a grin, she watched as the lights started appearing again, white lights started writing in the snow this time, making the snow glow.

_Marry Me, Hermione_.

Gasping she turned back to find Ron on one knee next to her. Grinning up at her, he opened the small velvet box, letting the soft porch lights fall on the ring.

"I know we've been having some trouble, but my feelings haven't changed. Will you?"

Smiling now, almost ready to cry, Hermione nodded, "Yes, yes I will."

With a happy yell, he stood and swooped her up in his arms. Her lips met his, parting quickly to his warm mouth. Behind them, they heard catcalls and cheers from inside the house, making them break apart, Hermione blushing fiercely despite the cold. He chuckled, resting his forehead on hers.

"Sorry about that, crazy people. We'll move far away," Ron whispered.

Hermione sniffed and shook her head, making him laugh. Pulling away a bit, he held out the ring, taking her offered left hand, he slipped it on.

"I know it's not much, but Bill already got Granny Weasley's ring and…"

Hermione stopped him with a quiet hand on his arm. "It's perfect Ron. It's better."

He smiled and kissed her again. Seizing in his arms, she felt her heart take off again racing making it hard to breathe.

"Hermione?" Ron pulled back. "Hermione? Hermione?"

She fainted clean away.

Of course the next day she was subjected to the customary Weasley teasing, and Ron even more so, for making her faint right after agreeing to marrying him. It was _lovely_...


	3. Chapter 3: A Curiouser and Curiouser World

__

_Apparently she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler." - Hermione Granger_

**February, 2003**

After his presentation the crowd had swarmed passed her towards the charmed speaker, Hermione stood quickly and sought to get out of the press of bodies. Luna had found her and escorted her to her father's private laboratory so that her father could ask and answer questions.

Walking around the room staring at the various objects lining walls and tables, some on their own stands, she was thoroughly baffled. Some of the trinkets looked delicate and harmless but she remembered what Luna had once told her, that her mother had died in an experiment gone wrong in front of her and her father. Walking along, she watched as her reflection was caught in several strange mirrors on one wall. Frowning, she leaned into one as she looked at herself.

Her hair had been pulled back and up in a twist, strictly controlled with clips and tiny combs. It took forever, but the end result was definitely worth it. Sighing, she wandered down the room. Reaching the end, Hermione leaned forward. This mirror was black and fogged. Moving so that she faced in front of it she saw that the smoke was clearing, but it wasn't her face that she saw. Gasping she staggered backwards and away from it, almost tripping on the end of her robes.

"Strange," a voice came from behind her. "It hasn't worked for anyone but me even after all these years of experimenting."

Hermione swallowed and clutched her pad and quill to her chest as she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. Why had she seen that? Seen _him?_

"If you don't mind me asking Mr. Lovegood," she began, trying to calm her furiously beating heart, "What _is_ it?"

He approached the mirror that was once again black with smoke, a thoughtful expression on his face- the most serious that she'd ever seen on him. Perhaps it was because his eye was focused forward as he stood staring into the mirror. A smile came onto his face as he stared at the glass. Finally, he turned away, once again ease in oddness.

"I was trying to invent a way for people to see their soulmates, drawing of course from Ibid's extensive use of mirrors. I thought I had it working some years ago when my late wife's face finally peered out at me. Unfortunately, it's never worked correctly with anyone else. For experiment's sake, what did you see?"

Hermione swallowed hard. There was no way she was admitting what she'd seen.

"Ah," he said sagely, nodding, "Something odd yes? Luna says that she sees a strange looking rabbit jackelthrope every time. Hard for that to be a soulmate then, eh?"

"Strange indeed," Hermione said, somewhat calmer now. So it didn't work. It couldn't possibly work. Why was she somehow disappointed at that thought? Shaking her head, she knew that Ron had been right all those years ago. She still didn't have her priorities in order.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it because Mr. Lovegood was bustling about in an attempt to make tea and it seemed like just a moment later she was seated on a rather outrageous looking cushion beside a low table, that she was quickly assured was only faux dragon skin, "the actual stuff is far too barbaric and expensive to buy".

After the politeness had passed Hermione set down her cup, she tried to relax into the cushion but was finding it a quite impossible feat.

"So you said that you actually witnessed a time rip then Mr. Lovegood?"

He smiled at her, "I did indeed my dear."

Baffled, but nevertheless trying to gather as much information as she could from the incredibly unbelievable source, she pressed on.

"Would you tell me who it was? You were saying how it's people who cause time rips?"

"Precisely, more specifically witches. I don't believe I've ever crossed acome, come across, my apologies, any wizard inducing Time Rips. They have been all female thus far in my research."

"But who was it, Mr. Lovegood?" Hermione asked, quickly getting frustrated with the man, "It was clearly in your lifetime, correct? What did she do?"

"Call me Xenophilius my dear, no pomp and circumstance here," he said with a smile.

She was assuredly going to strangle him. Trying desperately to keep herself calm, she was interrupted from contemplating the several different ways to transfigure him into something shatterable by Luna entering the room behind her. It cut off the tirade that had threatened to burst out of her instantly.

"I think it would be best if you told her," Luna's whispery voice carried shockingly well in the room.

Xenophilius sighed, "Very well, I thought I was doing quite well in building up the suspense but no matter."

Setting down his teacup, he looked at her (with his uncrossed eye), "It was you, my dear."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked.

Xenophilius smiled, "Well, there seemed to be many branches of what could be called splits in time due to the war. So many different outcomes possible, and all that bishcosh. But there seemed to be indicators of something greater than that, a rip in time. But," he said holding up one finger, "I didn't find it. Something happened around the great battle yes, but! It was closer to home that I found it. Searching through the use of runes and in consultation with several different sources on the importance's of constellations, I identified the location that I could see this wonderful rip. Shockingly, right outside my home! It was a walk, but well worth it. It _was_ a sight to see."

Hermione had been pacing for the past two minutes at least. Though she wasn't writing anything down, her right hand still held her quill, carelessly flicking the feather against her robes. She was so engrossed that she hadn't noticed that there had still been a few flecks of ink left over on the nib of the quill, now the dots were splattered on the robes.

"Hermione?"

Her head abruptly snapped up to look at Luna, whose words had broken through her train of thought. Xenophilius had apparently left the room, though the garish Time Turner he carried was still left on his seat.

"I'm sure that you'll know what to do; so you really shouldn't worry should you?" Luna asked.

Hermione just stared at her for a moment, temporarily at a loss for words, before she resumed pacing, still flicking her quill against her robes while her left hand nervously twisted her still new ring.

She couldn't change everything about the past, like strangling Riddle in his crib… She stopped pacing for a moment. No, she doubted that she could do that. She resumed pacing. So _first_ , she thought, isolate a possible event great enough to split time.

Riddle's first rise to power as Voldemort. Well that would be a crucial point in history, to be certain, but what would she be, what would Harry be if that happened? If Riddle was stopped at any point before the war, it would change everything... Would she mind? That stopped her again. She had the power to rip time now. No, that wasn't right. She had already ripped time in the past, she was just going to do it now, again. She continued pacing.

Cyclical time made her head spin. If she ripped time by choosing to go back in time, the rip happened in the present, not the past. Right? Dealing with hypothetical situations such as these, with little or no data involved made her wish that she had indeed transfigured Xenophilius when he'd been in the room. Who was to say that a decision she'd made hadn't already ripped time? Once again she stopped. He _had_ said that the Time Turner was used, __but really who was to say that it hadn't already occurred and she was worrying about this for nothing? Well, his enigmatic manner for one, (she began pacing again) though many would argue that he was _always_ enigmatic. So it was something that she would go back in time to do or change. That much was apparently? certain.

Not Riddle then. Something else. The only other convergence of different paths in time that she could think of would be the war, just like Xenophilius had said. Oh, bloody hell, there could have even been a time path where he _didn't_ witness the time rip, then where would that leave her? Her head began throbbing again.

But then there were thousands of different options- what could she have done differently or extra? What would going back solve? Would she kill one of the Death Eaters who had escaped? Would she save someone? Killing a Death Eater could be a marked difference, but if she had already done that did that mean that she just had to look for a disappearance? Maybe a body that no one had found because she had dispatched of it in the past? Or if she saved someone, would their body never have been found until the day she returned from the past? Would that mean she had to hide them to keep present events the same?

Hermione firmly stopped pacing, one hand was still nervously spinning her ring while the other continued tapping her quill. Finally a part of her snapped. Throwing the quill to the ground her other hand grabbing her left to jerk the ring from her hand. Shocked, she stopped. Slowly, she lowered her hands to her sides. She hated these stupid habits that she had been picking up. If it hadn't been for that awful potion concoction of Molly Weasley's she might have picked up biting her nails too. Turning slowly, she breathed a sigh of relief that Luna had left.

Walking over to one of the outrageous cushions, she sat down. Ron. What was she doing with Ron? She knew that her own problems were causing these nervous habits, so what did he have to do with it? She had said yes. She was going to marry Ron, that's what she was going to do with him. Forcing her hands flat on the table, she barely stopped herself from spinning her ring again. This was going to drive her mad.

"Think Hermione. Just think!" she stood abruptly and began pacing, again. "What you need to do is research... Find disappearances and discrepancies. Goodness knows it'll be difficult, but that's where you're going to start. There's no way that you'll be able to find the rip you supposedly cause by sitting around like a lump."

Already she was calmer; she had a course of action. Start with the war. If Xenophilius Lovegood had found it certainly she, the most brilliant witch of her age, could as well. Catching her reflection in one of the few plain mirrors of the room, she saw her smile widened. She was happy. With the stress of the previous days, she knew she deserved it. Looking around, she snatched up her pad and after scribbling a quick note of thanks, which she tore off and left on the table, Hermione prepared to Apparate. One last look made her grab the damn Time Turner to take with her.


	4. Chapter 4: The Man to Save

" _You sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve." - Ginny Weasley_  


**February, 2003**  


Hermione sat poring over records in the small room that she had designated her study. Ron was coming to visit later in the day. She hated that she was still fretting over what he would think of her surrounded by books again. Twisting her ring around her finger, she stood, leaving the mound of papers on her desk and went to the shelves on the wall.

She had thought the idea quite brilliant, if she did say so herself. Each shelf was spelled to link to a separate wizarding library, though they had been quite bare lately. London had the greatest accounts of the War and she had been pouring through them. The shelf was nearly full. Tapping her lip with her wand thoughtfully, she tapped two of them, sending them back to their shelves in WWL of London.

Taking another sheet of paper with her tightly written list of events, she spelled it so it stuck to the wall. Already, she had quite a timeline. The War she had detailed as much as she could, from the notes that she found to her own memories. Finding something that could be significant enough to rip time in a mess that was that war was almost impossible. Mainly because it could have been _anything_. The ceremonial burial of an empty casket. Staring blankly at the wall, she remembered the face in the mirror. But it couldn't be...

Trying to think of all the things she would have _liked_ to change, people she might have saved? They were accounted for in the past, which meant that they weren't in the present, and couldn't be in the present. She could even reference her experiences in third year for that. "Nothing can be changed because anything a traveler does merely produces the circumstances they had noted before traveling," after all. Looking back to her stacks of notes, she couldn't help but notice discrepancies in recent events. They seemed unnoticeable, but they were there. And as she had noted, these were what she would have to look for.

She would have to start the next phase of her research though, consulting runes. She was sure there was an Arithmantical equation she could use to narrow it down further to a specific instance and time...

A popping sound from the living room made her jump. Her stomach twisted abruptly as she looked about her and she contemplated hiding the evidence of her research. Resolved though, she refused. If they were going to have a bloody row about her reading, there were going to be problems.

"Hermione?" a voice called.

"In here," she said as she stood, walking towards the living room, a half-smile on her face.

Walking over to him, she ran her hands through Ron's hair, smoothing the half that was sticking up smooth. He caught her hand as she was pulling it away and kissed it. Since becoming an Auror with Harry, Ron had matured quite a bit. There was a strength there that had been missing for so long. Once he had come back to them, that fateful year, it had shown through and stayed.

"Smells like books," he said, wrinkling his nose, "I thought the Ministry let you have the day off to attend Lovegood's little fling."

"They did," Hermione said, rather thinking that her superior, instead of doing her a favor, had meant to punish her for some unknown fault. "Remind me to thank Harry and Ginny for suggesting the idea to him with Neville's new breed of Snapping Dragons."

She snatched her hand back.

"Hermione, I didn't mean anything by it," Ron said.

"I know Ron, I know," she said, absentmindedly playing with a lock of her hair that had come free from the tight confines.

Suddenly he mischievously grinned, "You know, I never liked you getting mad at me, but after the make-up sha-"

"Ron!" she cried indignantly, her face flushing as she turned away.

The last time that he had rolled his eyes at her reading in bed she had snapped. It had never been anything big, but the little things had added up and she had just snapped. Kicking him out of her bed, she had made him Apparate back to the Burrow taking nothing but what he was wearing: boxers and one sock. He had finally apologized profusely, and with what she had guessed was a script written by Molly Weasley, and she had let him come back the next night.

"Seriously though Hermione," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Have you thought about it?"

Hermione stifled a sigh. They had been having the official "moving in" talk for over a week now. Even though Ron spent nights over and technically had his own space and his own drawers, she couldn't bring herself to let that extra step and let him live with her. For the most part, she loved having him over and loved him when he was over, but she was still resisting. At least for now.

"Not tonight Ron," she said, letting him hug her tightly as he heard in her voice just how tired the extra research had made her as she relaxed back against his chest.

"Mione, I know it's soon, especially after… you know. But we are engaged, I think they would understand."

Hermione swallowed hard and immediately tensed. She hadn't even been thinking about them, and now that doubled and trebled her guilt. Especially when she coupled it with all that she had been doing today. Her mind had skipped them over. As if saving her parents' lives hadn't been important enough for her to cause a rip in time over. She looked up and swallowed hard again.

Her parents had been killed in an attack almost six months ago now. Their house had been found destroyed on the inside. They had never found the bodies. The thought of her parents as bodies made a silent sob jerk her body for an instant. How could she not have thought about them? Her mother's face swam in front of her eyes and suddenly she was crying.

Pulling away, Hermione walked calmly into the kitchen, her eyes still streaming tears. She felt Ron trailing behind her. Walking into the kitchenette, she put a kettle on, the Muggle way, her mother's way. It felt good doing it like that now. Like she still had a piece of her to hold on to, even though she wanted to fall apart. Taking a hand towel from the rack, she wiped at her face. She didn't want to break down in front of Ron like that. It wasn't his fault.

"It's okay to cry you know," Ron said from the door frame separate kitchen from living room.

Hermione nodded, the lump in her throat still too big to speak around. She coughed.

"I-I know Ron, it's just. I can't let it get to me. I can't explain it. Then they win twice," she finally said as the kettle began to whistle.

"I'll be in the front room if you need me," he said before turning and leaving.

Hermione set the kettle to the side after she poured the steaming water into the mug with her bag of black tea. Letting it steep, she made her way to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she took a deep breath as her back thumped softly against the wood. Sliding down the closed door until she was a small ball on the floor, Hermione cried, sobbing silently into her knees.

**March, 2003**  


"It's really quite extraordinary," Poppy said with a smile. "They've been appearing since, oh I'd say since the students returned from Christmas. We were getting desperate, so it was like a miracle."

Hermione had been questioning professors around Hogwarts as well as others who worked at the Ministry. Since she had elected to have her Saturdays off when she had first started working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she had decided to visit Madame Pomphrey. She would have had the best insight on things happening in the castle that were out of place or strange.

"But what kind of potions Madame Pomphrey?" Hermione asked.

"Oh call me Poppy dear, you're not a student anymore," she said with a smile as she bustled to the cabinet to show her. "I had originally thought that it was Horace you know, but goodness knows that man…" she shook her head. "Besides, the last year I asked him to help replenish my stores. Well, let's just say I had some very stern words for him in reply."

Poppy opened the cabinet, "But there they are, plain as day. It's almost as if…"

"As if what Madame, Poppy?" she asked when she saw the frown on her face.

"Oh nothing dear," she said, quickly dabbing at her eyes. "Just a passing fancy. What have they done now?"

Hermione watched as the nurse quickly hurried over to a student who was almost being carried by another into the ward. If she thought she was right, the leg the one student was dragging was either badly dislocated, or transfigured into something else. Looking away from the students, she looked back to the shelf. All common ailment potions that would be found in the Hospital Wing. Looking in the locked section of the cabinet, she squinted to see the fogged glass. A package of three ingredients together was in the front. Leaning closer, she barely made out the largest line of the label.

"Wolfsbane," she whispered.

It looked like whoever had packaged it had stopped the process all but finished.

"Hermione, look, I can't believe you haven't seen this before," Falcona said, handing her over the paper folded to the article in question.

Hermione spun her chair around to take the paper. Running a quick scan over it she frowned. Normally she tried to keep up to date with the latest developments in almost every magical field, but this one had completely escaped her. It detailed the use of a much more complicated warding system than she had ever come across.

"And before you get completely engrossed," Falcona added, making Hermione look up. "You do know that there's going to be an opening in my department soon, right? You should send in an application, you're more than qualified. And we could use you. You wouldn't believe the disgusting legal jargon and absolute knob heads I have to work with. The reforms need to be spear headed by someone and Merlin knows you're good at that."

Falcona gestured to the numerous S.P.E.W. paraphernalia that Hermione still had, as well as awards for service. Hermione nodded thoughtfully as her eyes returned to the article.

"I was thinking about it Falcona," she absentmindedly said. The use of phoenix properties, she'd never thought. "I filled out the application, I just haven't decided if I'm sending it in yet."

"Well think about it. There are some many laws that still favor purebloods, we could use your brain."

Hermione nodded again. Falcona laughed, seeing how she was already entrenched in her readings. Turning to go back to her level, Falcona was surprised when Hermione called her back.

"How long ago did these articles start appearing?" she asked.

"Hm? You mean the author?" Hermione nodded. "I think about four months ago, maybe five, I can't be certain right now. I have them all actually, if you're interested. Have you heard of him?"

"Ifanis Princeps?" Hermione asked, "No. I haven't heard of him. But it's intriguing."

"Some of his writings are a little… borderline I guess you could say. I'm interested to hear what you think. Originally they were handed off to the Auror's office by an anonymous tip," Falcona nodded at Hermione's raised eyebrows. "You could say that he sees the line as very thin between Black and White I suppose."

Hermione nodded and went back to reading as Falcona turned to go back to her office in Magical Law Enforcement. She was engrossed completely in the article from the beginning to end, her fingers itching to try it as her mind exploded with possibilities. If wards like these had existed… Hastily setting aside the paper, she tried to distract herself before she thought the words, _if wards like these had existed, my parents would still be alive_.

Back at her London flat, Hermione was once again at work with her research. Her line of floating notes was now quite extensive, covering a wall. Occasionally, she would star one event, scratch out another as being insignificant. All were pointing her to the same direction and she wasn't yet sure she liked it. She sure as hell couldn't understand it, but if it got any clearer her equations would take form and slap her in the face. Either way, she had wanted a bit more confirmation. She had visited Harry in the Auror's office on her way out that day.

"Harry!"

"Mione, what are you doing over here?" Harry said, a wry smile on his face. Two Aurors in front of him waved as they turned the corner.

"I've been looking through some things that have been going on this year. Have you noticed any tips that were odd, or raids that went well, almost too well?" she asked.

"No, not that I can think of," he said frowning slightly as he ran fingers through his hair.

That had made Hermione grin. Ginny had made him get it cut earlier in the year and now Harry continuously ran his hands through it as if he could make it grow back faster.

Even though Harry hadn't noticed anything, she didn't give up hope from that angle. She poured through every Auror report and article that she could get her hands on but she couldn't find anything. The praises from the papers would be expected of course, if the raids or arrests were published at all, but of the details that she had thought would hint at something extraordinary… Nothing. She sighed, pushing papers aside to lay her head down in her arms. How could Lovegood have found something she couldn't? She needed definites, none of this guesswork! Maybe she needed a different approach. She was interrupted from her musings by a voice coming from her living room.

"Hullo Harry," she said with a smile when she saw his face peering out from her fireplace.

The small flat hadn't originally had one, but she had it magically enhanced so that the smoke had somewhere to go. Harry's face looked up from the green flames with a smile as she sat in front of the fireplace.

"Hermione, I was thinking about what you said before. You know, about things going too smoothly? Back in… August I think it was. The raid on Rookwood's hideout in Scotland. We had gotten an anonymous tip telling us when to be there and what to expect. Now that I'm looking back, it did go smoother than I thought it should have at the time, but I didn't question it."

Hermione smiled wider, "Thanks Harry that helps."

"How are things lately, how're things with Ron?" he asked, a strange look on his face.

"They're as good as they ever were I suppose. Why?" Hermione replied, frowning.

"Well, it's just Ron's seemed, err, what I mean is, what's with the new project lately? He said it started after you got back from Lovegood's," Harry said.

Hermione laughed as she replied, "If you must know, I had originally thought to throttle you and Ginny for sending me there, but it was actually more interesting than you would think. I'm just explored a possibility."

Harry winced before asking, "Like what?"

"Just research this year and connecting it with events that happened in the war… Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine, just fine. I just thought the two of you would have moved in already, you know," he continued as Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Harry…" she began.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Where are you Flooing from?" she asked, her eyes still narrowed.

"My house, why?" he asked.

Abruptly Hermione stood and Apparated. Seconds later she was knocking loudly on Harry's door. Ginny opened the door, startled. Billowing past her friend, Hermione had just enough time to see a tall individual disappear from next to the fireplace before rounding on Harry, who still had his head in the fire.

"Hermione what's-" Ginny started.

"Hullo Hermione," Harry said, a rueful grin on his face as he sat back.

"You! I can't believe it. You were _spying_ on me?" she demanded.

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, rounding on Harry also. "What happened? Where did Ron go?"

"Ugh!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up and turning to Ginny. " _Your_ husband was acting as an agent for _your_ brother, trying to get information out of me. This is ridiculous. Ginny, I do hate to impose, but if I get home and find him there, you might have to deal with a house guest. God knows his mother won't take him back when I tell her."

Abruptly she Apparated again, leaving the Potters trading glances. Taking a deep breath, Ginny walked around the couch to sit next to Harry who was still on the floor. Leaning against him, she sighed.

"What's going on Harry?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," he said, scooting back with her until they were leaning back against the side of the couch, his arms around his new wife. "They've had spats before, I'm sure they'll work it out."

Ginny shook her head with a slight chuckle as she said, "And how many times did I say to stay out of it?"

Harry sighed as Ginny laughed louder to ease the sting of the 'I told you so'.

"I do worry about them though. Ron's always been the slow mover," Harry said, pausing when Ginny's snort interrupted him, "but now it's her that's putting the brakes on. If one of them doesn't come to a conclusion, I just don't know what's going to happen."

It turned out that Ron hadn't returned to Hermione's flat and she didn't know if that made her happy or furious. The truth was, she wanted to yell at him. She didn't want it to deflate by the time she next saw him. Pacing furiously in her living room, she wanted desperately to smash something. Only intense restraint kept her violent feelings from becoming violent actions.

She couldn't believe that Ron had coerced Harry into asking her questions. She had said that she wasn't ready for him to move in, why was he pushing?

And Lovegood! She fumed. How could someone so obviously out of touch with reality have found something that she couldn't have seen? What could he possibly have researched that she hadn't touched upon? Even every bit of research she had so far was a guess! And who would she be saving? Who did all of the signs that she _had_ found point to? Not Fred Weasley, though since his ghost made regular appearances in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, causing just as much trouble as when he was alive, she couldn't feel too bad. It wouldn't be Remus Lupin, Tonks, or Sirius, or any other beloved hero or student who had died during the war, but a snarky bastard that everyone had a reason to praise now after his death, but couldn't help but hate during his life. Why? Reviewing the laws of time made her head spin. She was, after all, looking for the evidence of something that she had _done_ after all. That it _had_ been him she was almost certain. All of his bad manners, sarcasm, billowing robes, disagreeable, two-faced, greasy haired... _him_. Somehow that thought calmed her.

Hermione walked, calmer now, into her makeshift research room. The papers fluttered slightly as she closed the door. A red circle marked the day of the great battle where Riddle fell. She shivered, thinking how close they had all come to death that day. But she knew that she would do it now. She didn't have the exact time of an actual time rip, but all of her calculations, the arithmancy required painted the far wall, included two people. The central figure was her. Strangely two tears leaked free from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered, looking at the glowing lines that lit up the chalk markings. She would rip time by saving Severus Snape.


	5. Chapter 5: Preparations

" _Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike." – Albus Dumbledore_  


  
**March, 2003**   


Two days after Hermione had found Ron trying to spy through Harry, Hermione had set up a small Potions lab in her kitchen. The potions had been simmering for almost six hours now, carefully spaced approximately thirty minutes apart so she would be able to bottle one cauldron before the next finished.

Her sleeves she had been pushed back above her elbows and her hair had been firmly brushed into submission before firmly braided. Though it was still wild at times, the length that she had added to it since the war was slowly but surely weighing down the outrageous tendency towards bushiness. The braid could almost touch the bottom of her waist now.

Two minutes to go, she thought as she readied the bottles. A loud crash, followed by a chime, made Hermione smirk. A quick anti-Apparition ward. She knew that it would come in handy. Only one person would have the nerve to Apparate into her flat. Carefully, she poured out the first cauldron into the first two bottles as she heard the steps coming towards her door followed by the sound of knocking. Carefully stoppering the bottles, she set the cauldron down. Another knock at the door made her sigh. He wasn't giving up. Crossing her apartment, she opened the door.

"What do you want Ron?" she asked, leaning her body against the door jam.

"I-" he began, holding out a bouquet of flowers, before he wrinkled his nose. "Hermione it smells like a hospital in there."

"Wait! Wait, that's not what I meant to say," he said hastily as she began closing the door on him.

"Then what Ron? I don't have time for this," she said, glad that she could hold onto some of the anger from the other day.

Ron looked flustered, shifting weight from one foot to the other as he began. "You know I'm not good at this. I- look, I'm sorry Hermione. It's just, you've got me going crazy. I just don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going. No, that's not what I meant. I-"

Hermione sighed and opened the door, saying, "Come in Ron."

Once the door had fully closed, she pulled her wand free from her pocket, saying, " _Accio_ vase."

Hermione took the flowers from him and with a murmured _Aguamenti_ , filled the vase with water. She took her time arranging them as he spoke.

"Hermione, I want us to be together. Really together. And I know that we _are_ now, but somehow I feel like you're always holding out on me like somehow you're with me, just not," Ron said. She could feel his eyes on her, but she was determined not to look up as she arranged the flowers. "And I know. Really. If I lost Mum."

"No," Hermione said, her head snapping up as her stomach clenched painfully. "I am not. Not. Talking about them Ron."

A tiny whistle from the kitchen made her shake her head and go to pour out the second batch. Ron followed her.

"Maybe we have to talk about them Hermione. Dammit, I'm not good at this," he said, sounding frustrated.

"Then stop trying to be, Ron," she hissed tightly, containing her anger as she carefully poured the cauldron's potion into bottles. "Let it go."

"But then I'll let you go!" he cried. "I feel like if I don't do something, you're going to go. I don't know how, and I have to stop you before you're gone."

Guilt twisted Hermione's stomach as she stoppered the last bottle. She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table as the anger leeched out of her. Finally, she made herself look at him.

Ron was standing in the doorway with such a look of anguish on his face that her gut twisted again. How could she leave him like this? If Lovegood was right, there might be countless Rons who would never see her again, she would disappear, and only one Ron that would. And even that one Ron would have to know that she had gone back to save Snape, and she knew to him, venerated hero or not, too much of Ron still thought he had been a git. But what could she say?

"What do you want me to say Ron?" she said, hating that she sounded so defeated. How had it get gotten this way between them?

"I want you to say that you'll stay," he said, advancing. "I want you to tell me to move in with you. I want _you_."

"I can't say that right now Ron, I'm sorry," she all but whispered.

"Which part?"

His tone made her look up. The hurt was almost completely gone. Anger had completely replaced it. His face and neck were flushed red, but his lips were tight and white.

"Forget it, forget I said it," he hissed before he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione flinched and tears started flowing down her face. The chime for the third cauldron being finished jolted her out of it. Wiping the tears on her sleeve, she sniffed. Then she poured.

"Twenty-five _thousand_ galleons? Are you out of your mind?" Hermione gaped at the tall man behind the counter. She honestly had to wonder if it was a tendency of those who were frequently around potions ingredients to also have rather pale skin. He had done well for himself here over the years though, considering how the quality of his robes had improved over the years she'd shopped here.

The clerk, Mr. Ernet, at Slug & Jiggers was now looking at her like she was out of _her_ mind. It was the only shop that she had found in the country to even make her an offer though, so she had to have at least tried for the easy way of doing this. It had taken her forever, and she had finally gotten a hit on her searches. They had sent an owl to her yesterday that they had a vial in stock, recently in, if _the miss would like to please see for herself_.

"Phoenix tears are not normal potion ingredients, Miss Granger," he began slowly, sounding as if he was about to go into a lecture.

"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione said, dismissing his words with a wave of her hand. The price had caught her off guard though.

Phoenix tears didn't have a long shelf life, first thing. Any attempt to configure a preservative to mix with the tears had the same result as allowing them to lose their healing properties over time. They also weren't easy to procure. Unlike many potions ingredients that came from magical creatures, they could not be harvested from a dead phoenix. They also had to be given willingly, because the birds could not be coerced to either heal a nearby victim or cry on command. There also seemed to be a limit on how many tears a phoenix could produce at any one point in time. But still! She wouldn't make that much in a year. Hell, two years! She sighed in disgust as she heard a chuckle from behind the counter.

"You don't sound as they normally do though Miss Granger," he said with a smile.

"How do they usually sound then?" Hermione asked as she handed over her other list of ingredients.

His face lost the humor that he had held as he said, "They normally sound desperate. You- You don't sound desperate. You simply sound determined to find another way."

Hermione chuckled as she gestured to her list.

"It is the second time that I've seen you in as many days though," the clerk said, busying about the shop as he prepared her the items from her list, setting a brown stoppered bottle onto the counter with another vial with a blue powdered substance. "I'd guess you were working for St. Mungo's or another hospital in the area. Or going to battle." He finished, turning to raise an eyebrow at her from where he stood on the ladder behind the front desk.

Hermione only gave him an answering smirk, but didn't reply. He chuckled before turning back and scooping three spoons of pulverised iron into a bag. He also grabbed a tall jar on his way down. Hermione handed over her own flask for him, for which he nodded to her in thanks, as he poured salamander blood into the funnel which he placed inside the flask.

"Of course," he said, stoppering the remaining containers and tallying up her purchase. "It isn't my business to know what you will be doing with these goods. However, I feel that we've come to a working relationship so far between us, yes?"

Hermione nodded once, "I would say so, yes, Mr. Ernet."

"Good, then please, call me Nigel," Nigel said with a smile. "That will be 6 Galleons and 10 Sickles."

"Nigel then," Hermione said as she fished the money from her purse. "Please call me Hermione."

"Very well," Nigel said, handing over her purchases and his face became serious. "I'm sure you won't need it but, good luck Hermione."

The next stop was fairly simple. It was also something that she had been putting off for quite some time. Swallowing hard, Hermione pushed the door open to Flourish and Blotts. The store normally filled her with such ease and comfort. It was the place that she would always stop and visit, even when she knew that she wasn't going to purchase anything. Sad though it might have been, she did love the smell of books. Moving towards the wizardographies section, she didn't have to look far to see the books she wanted. Seeing his face scowling out from the cover of _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?_ made her grimace. She knew why she had been avoiding that particular book. Frankly, it infuriated her to no end. Maybe even more so than the biography the infuriating woman had written about Harry later, of which three quarters had been absolute rubbish.

Feeling dirty, Hermione picked up the book, and flipped it over. There, in all her disgusting glory, was the author. Rita Skeeter, the woman that Hermione detested with a passion. Unfortunately, shortly after the war, Hermione had lost her power over her.

After the rumors of a biography on Harry began to circulate she had practically broken the woman's door down. Hermione had almost been hauled off to court after the things that she had shouted but, eventually, she had ended up going through with her original threat and reported the detestable, sneaky, horrid, amoral woman to the Ministry as an unregistered Animagus.

Ms. Skeeter was now registered. She had had to pay several hefty fines (calculated on the years that she had been unregistered), but was now free to write all of the rubbish she wanted, including Harry Potter's biography, along with Snape's.

A thinner volume, _Hidden Hero_ , sat next to the others. It had been published some years later by Eldred Worple, with a foreword written by Harry Potter. Though Hermione had helped Harry write and edit the foreword she had stopped short of actually reading the contents of either book. The idea for the book had actually been Harry's, and the idea to include Worple had been Hermione's. Subtle manipulations, as well as Harry dangling the possibility of an authorized biography, of course had Worple on their side.

_Hidden Hero_ had actually sold remarkably well within the intellectual community. Harry had confessed that he hadn't actually included many of the details that he could have, which would have made it sell more. He had made sure that he had the final word on most of his personal history. For all that Harry had wanted to clear Snape's name, as well as turn the public's opinion, most of the book was concerned with most of the book was concerned with setting the record and timeline straight as far as the Order of the Phoenix and the Second Wizarding War were concerned. Harry's fame had helped sell it, Hermione knew. It also helped put a dent in Skeeter's profits which she liked of course. But she could never bring herself to read either.

Swallowing, she turned this little book over as well. Both Harry and Worple were pictured on the back- Harry decked in his Auror's robes and looking quite grim, Worple looked all-together pleased with himself though, thankfully, not grinning as obscenely as Lockhart used to.

Stacking both books in her arms, Hermione hated that her stomach was turning slightly with butterflies as she chatted with the girl she bought them from. Everyone here had known her on a first name basis since her third year. Shrinking the books so she could tuck them into her pocket, she sighed. If Ron and Harry could see her now! Scared to read a book. She laughed at herself. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. Picking up her bag of potions ingredients, unfortunately not all of them could be shrunken without the possibility of damaging their properties. It just wasn't right to mix magic with certain ingredients.

When she reached her flat though, she still couldn't bring herself to read the books. She decided to just dump them into the bag with her other things. She had a plan now, that was certain. It all hinged on Pye's lecture next month, and if she could manage to get into Harry's good graces enough to get access to some of the Auror office's property. She'd only really need to borrow one for a day, technically, if all went well. Thinking back, through all the times of trouble during her school years though... she knew things did not always go as planned.


	6. Chapter 6: One Last Thing

" _It is a curious thing...but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it." - Albus Dumbledore_  


**April, 2003**

Hermione's visit to St. Mungo's was strangely surreal. All day she had been anxious, almost as if she had drunk ten cups of coffee. Her energy level surged and lessened as she walked the halls, so much so that she almost wondered if she should let a Healer examine her while she was there. Once she got the lectionary, the surges stopped, but she was still worried. For the past few months now, she'd been having them, but never this bad.

_"Hermione are you alright?" Ginny asked._

_Hermione rubbed circles on her chest and nodded. Her heart had suddenly sped up and she felt like a large dose of adrenaline had hit her system._

_"I'm fine," she said, standing abruptly because if she moved it helped. "It's not the first time that it's happened."_

Ginny had almost made her go see a Healer then, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if her friend had been correct. As she stepped into the lectionary with the mass of mediwitch and mediwizard students, she quickly found a seat up front.

"Well if it isn't Hermione Granger," a male voice said from the row behind her.

Hermione turned around to see Anthony Goldstein flashing her a blue-eyed smile. She grinned.

"I didn't know you were going to be a Healer," he said teasingly. "Last I heard, you were working for the Ministry of Magic. Which, as I remember, you vowed never to do."

Hermione laughed slightly and shook her head, more at herself than at him.

"I'm just here for the lecture. I'm glad to see you though. I haven't seen you since DA and that was years ago," she replied.

He smiled as he said, "Sometimes I wish that we could all be together like that again," he paused to chuckle, "Then I come to my senses."

Hermione chuckled a bit as well before they both turned around to listen as the instructor entered. Augustus Pye had helped to revolutionize the Healing world by the use of spells to contain, eliminate, or aid the healing process, especially in the treatment of patients during and after the Second Wizarding War.

"The spell that I am lecturing about today is _Immstatis Mortis_. Long, I know," he said, causing several students to chuckle, "Though definitely worth it. This spell is especially essential for victims of poison, unknown or known, spells, charms and curses, especially those unknown, as well as particularly vicious attacks. Now, the question is why. Who can tell me what the first problem of any of those victims is?"

A few hands went up. He called on a witch in pale green robes three rows up.

"The need for immediate treatment?" she asked.

"Very close," Pye said, "Very close to what I'm looking for."

He called on two other students before receiving the correct answer.

"The need to know how to treat them immediately," the wizard said.

"Yes, correct," he said with a smile. "Often victims of such attacks can die while lying right in the middle of a circle of Healers, simply because they do not know how to treat them within the short time frame that they have. The poison will have run its course, the spell will have done permanent damage, the wounds will have bled out. _Immstatis Mortis_ solves this. May I have a volunteer? Two volunteers?"

Two students eventually came to the front. The Healer gestured for the first student to lie on the examination table.

"Now don't worry," he said with a smile, "You'll be able to see it performed as well."

With a twist and flick of his wrist, he said, "Immstatis Mortis."

The student's body went completely slack, as still as if she had died. The other murmurings of the students clearly thought the same thing. When her chest didn't rise to breathe, the murmurings became cries of alarm. Pye raised his arms to quiet the students.

"Finite Incantem," he said, and immediately the student jolted awake, sitting up and blinking at the Healer, breathing normally. "You see?"

"How do you feel my dear?" he asked her.

"Fine," she replied, "Did the spell work?"

Relieved chuckles resounded in the room.

"Yes it did," he said with a laugh himself. "With no lasting harm done. You'll see me perform it again with this young man in just a moment.

"As you could see," he continued, addressing the room once again. "She looked to all of you still as death, yes? That is the point of the spell. It holds the body in the exact state it was in at the moment the spell was cast. It will not reverse spells that were cast or such things as that. However, in cases where life or death decisions must be made, it gives the Healer the precious time he or she needs in order to diagnose and choose treatment. Especially in cases where the body is turned against itself and every breath brings the victim closer to death. Now, you must be careful. Every spell has its limits of course. The victim cannot stay under the influence of this spell for more than two minutes. Blood circulation must continue after that point. The spell can be repeated multiple times however."

Pye carefully went through the technique as he waved his wand, then followed with the careful intonation of the words so that all could hear him.

"Unfortunately, this spell will also have limits on the symptoms that it can completely stop. So far, the only spell whose aftereffects could not be completely negated by the use of this spell is the Cruciatus or certain types of spells that induce or create brain seizures or severe flaring of nerves. The one that you cast this spell on is very vulnerable to other types of castings. As such, you should be able to do basic diagnostic spells, while they are under _Immstatis Mortis_ 's effects, all those included in your text have been thoroughly tested with this spell. However, wait to cast active spells _after_ Immstatis Mortis has been lifted," he said.

Pye demonstrated the technique again with the other students and then asked for further volunteers to practice the spell. Hermione was the first in line.

Later that night, Hermione went over the figures again. She had everything that she needed packed in her specially charmed robes (and hopefully many things she _wouldn't_ need) and she planned to go back in two weeks, so that she would be back in time on May 1, 1998, close to the final battle. The date didn't seem to be correct though. The actual time of the rip eluded her. The necessary factor was saving Snape's life, both Snape's equation and the equation that described his death assured her of that. The second factor was her doing it by going back in time. The third factor was somehow Thorfinn Rowle, which gave her a narrowed view of the date. He had been found battered and tied in the property between Lovegood's house and the Burrow the July after the battle. July might make sense if she considered that final equation. Knowing she had to leave it, she moved to her kitchen to put on a new kettle.

Stumbling, Hermione quickly grabbed the back of her kitchen chair as she felt her heart surge again. Gasping, she was barely able to stand upright. All she could concentrate on was breathing as the attack worsened, driving her to her knees. Her vision doubled and just when she thought she might pass out, it stopped. A crash on her kitchen table made her stand, shakily. The teapot that had been a gift from Mrs. Weasley was shattered and the cold tea that had been inside now spelled out across her table:

_Go. Now._

Her eyes widened, but she didn't hesitate. Running for her robes, she slipped into them quickly, followed quickly by the chain of Lovegood's TimeTurner. Tossing the specialized cloak over it all, she scattered the sealed and spelled letters across her kitchen table and Apparated.

The Forbidden Forest had never looked as ominous as it did now, she thought as she walked. She began reaching into her robes, but stopped herself. She wasn't going to check for the fourth time that everything was in order. Slipping the invisibility cloak's hood over her head, she levitated into a tree at the edge of the forest. Inside her head, she repeated the steps that she needed to perform, as she seated herself carefully on one of the free branches, making sure that the tree hadn't seemed altered in the past five years. Tucking her robes close in and around her, she made sure that the invisibility cloak covered her completely. Shaking, Hermione clutched the Time Turner's chain painfully tight in her hands. Everything she knew brought her to this moment yet she couldn't bring herself to turn the hourglass.

Suddenly hit with a burst of energy, her hands turned began to spin it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's surreal posting these as I'm writing Chapter 11 right now.... ah well! On to the past!


	7. Chapter 7: Behind Enemy Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose the film's version of events over the book's for this scene. For a few reasons, including the wonderful voice of Alan Rickman.

" _Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do!_ _Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back!" – Albus Dumbledore_  


  
**April-May, 1998**   


Clinging tightly now to the tree, Hermione let herself take in her surroundings. In her mind, she began cataloging all of the things that would have to happen in the last two weeks of April before the final battle. She wasn't ready for this. Her breathing was accelerated and her heart was pounding. Merlin, did she not want to be here. But this was the only place that she knew would keep her safe from crossing paths with anyone and have unintended consequences. She knew that she was high enough not to be easily seen from the woods, and she had taken extra precautions when she had borrowed one of the few invisibility cloaks held by the Auror office.

She had dissected it completely at her flat, but the magic would have taken her too long to replicate on her own so she had just nicked one. In a sense anyway. Chances were, it would be back before it was missed. She had just replaced it with a cloak that was the same with traces of invisibility, so that it would simply appear as though the cloak had simply faded. The magic of the one she had would start fading by the end of June anyway, but she hoped to not need it by then.

As she tried to not move for as long as possible, letting her gaze skim over the grounds, she let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. No one. Not yet anyway. Her other self would still be in Shell Cottage. Their trio would still be recovering from Dobby's death and from her…Biting her lip, she cradled her arm with scars well healed. The pain had healed, but she wore long sleeves now. That bitch had known it would scar. As with many dark wounds, no magic could remove it.

Two weeks. More specifically, twelve days. Where could she hide for that long? She knew that she had to be by the boathouse in time. She would hopefully spend her last day there, spelling and warding her little corner so that the most evil wizard of her time and his would be able to walk right past her and not notice a thing.

Huddling in her cloak, Hermione tried to focus. She had come back too early, she hadn't looked for a safe place now during this time. She had hoped to go right to the boathouse. Looking towards the castle, she tried to figure a way into the grounds. The Room of Requirement could hide her as a student until it was time. Most of the DA would be living there by now as it was. The Village was crawling with patrols. She didn't want to risk traveling too far away. So, it was either hide in the trees for a week or the castle. Hogwarts it was. But how? How to get in to Hogwarts that was now crawling with Death Eaters? And would she risk messing with time further? Maybe she could just stay in the forest? A rustling came from beneath her. Sucking in her breath, Hermione flicked her wand over herself quickly, barely doing it in time.

Fenrir Greyback stalked out of the forest beneath her, sniffing the air. Seeing him look up, watching him scan the trees with narrowed eyes, Hermione knew that he had caught her scent before. The spell to conceal her scent had saved her. For now. It would wear off soon. She tried not to breathe as he stalked closer to the castle. Harry had the map. Damn the Marauders for their amazing magic. She didn't have to worry about that yet though. That was later. And if she got into the Room of Requirement, she wouldn't have to worry about it seeing her there.

Shivering, she knew she couldn't stay here. The Shrieking Shack would get her in through the Whomping Willow. The cloak would get her around inside. She could do it. It really was the only place that she knew she could be safe. Hermione let out an almost inaudible snort. Safe. With Death Eaters crawling all over the place, Dementors flying around at Voldemort's beck and call, and soon Voldemort himself would make his big entrance. How could she possibly be thinking of doing this? And for Snape? Her brains were addled. Completely addled.

Making her way to the Shrieking Shack was easier than she had thought. There was an almost deafening silence in the forest. It was as if it knew what stalked under its trees, of the war that had begun, and of the Battle that was coming. It was almost scary how easy it was. The Shack still stood on its own, looking like it would fall over at any moment from the outside. Not wanting to waste time, she Appareted in.

Downing the Polyjuice made her gag. Her clothes instantly became too big. She had to cinch her jeans tighter at her waist and push her sleeves up on her arms. Over and over again as she dragged herself down the corridor to the Whomping Willow, she chanted her cover story, over and over. She knew the Neville who was in charge now. The same Neville who would become an Auror with Harry and Ron. Exact. Her cover story had to be good.

By the time she worked her way out from under the Whomping Willow, thanking her lucky stars she remembered where the knot was to freeze it, Hermione pulled herself from the end of the tunnel, quickly checking to see that she was covered. The sun had just set when she had come back in time, so it was almost full dark when she reached the outer walls of Hogwarts castle. No one was on patrol outside the main doors, but she didn't want to risk tripping wards or even opening a door for an invisible person. Hugging the wall, she found herself almost asking the castle.

_Please, please, please, I need the Room of Requirement,_ she thought frantically, hoping that the urgency would somehow help.

Feeling the stones behind her change, a grin lit up Hermione's face. Feeling behind her, she felt a small wooden door. Crouching down, she opened it, making sure to shut it behind her before moving forward. For a second, in the darkness, she panicked. It wasn't a trap. It couldn't be a trap. Hogwarts wouldn't let it be a trap. She couldn't understand how she knew, but it didn't change her body's reaction. Her heart pounded in her ears as she stooped low in the corridor. Finding light at the end of the tunnel, she took a deep breath and embraced her taken identity, praying that her hunch was correct, that she was somewhere in the tunnel leading from Hog's Head.

She took the last of the corridor at a dead run, hitting the door hard as she opened it, falling into the Room of Requirement in a tangled heap of robes, arms and legs. Also, smack into the back of one Neville Longbottom.

The commotion that she caused was loud enough and violent enough that she didn't have to fake being disoriented when the invisibility cloak was thrown off of her. She knew what they saw. A scared twelve year old girl, long black hair in two long braids mussed, scratched, covered in residue from the forest and dirt from the tunnel. She was shorter than Hermione Granger, by at least four inches. She was thinner too, like she hadn't eaten in days. The fact that Hermione's jeans and jumper were at least two sizes too big on her now helped, as well as the fact that she was wearing a black robe that billowed around her feet and fell over and past her hands. The yelling of alarm and questions was stopped as Neville completely righted himself and got to his feet, waving for silence from the panicking students around him.

"Quiet! Quiet down, all of you," he said, turning to face her.

Hermione started shaking, wrapping her arms around herself as she made her chin start to tremble as well, as if she was on the verge of tears. Neville looked at her, really looked.

"Who are you? How did you get here?" he asked finally when silence fell.

"Pe-penelope Gr-grant," Hermione stuttered. "I… My family. I'm Muggle-born, you see. I… they, B-B-Bella. Bellatrix Lestrange and…"

Shaking in earnest now as Hermione channeled the day Bellatrix had flattened her to the floor, knowing that bringing up Bellatrix was a direct play on Neville's emotions, she continued, "My parents… the, um, the O-order didn't get to save them," Hermione saw the Dark Mark over her house, the damage as she'd surveyed the inside and the tears started, "I…"

Shaking, Hermione held up her left arm for Neville to see. Some of the students who had been crowding behind them gasped. _Mudblood_ was still scarred into her arm. Polyjuice, spells, nothing would ever carve it out from her skin after Bellatrix had used magic to seal it there.

Her performance was good enough, because soon she was wrapped in a blanket and sat on one of the couches the Room had given them. Her entire story had convinced them. She told them how she had been taken to the Shack by Remus and given the cloak by the Order to get her safely inside. There was nowhere safe on the outside anymore, and their safehouses were full. She had started crying when she told them about Remus. Even if they wondered where Penelope Grant disappeared to after the battle was won, Remus wouldn't be able to tell them if she had been lying or not. By the time any of them saw Remus he would be…. Hermione shivered again.

"…come on ask her!" an adamant voice demanded.

"No! You remember what happened the last time. We can't afford to take any more chances like that. We're going to have to wait, got it?" Neville snapped back.

"He got caught!" the boy shouted. Hermione recognized the other boy now, Ernie Macmillian. "Michael got tortured because he got caught. A cloak like hers could help, just ask her. You know they've got more of the students strung up somewhere, you know it."

Neville looked thoughtful before he replied, "We'll try then. The more that we rally here the better. I'll ask."

Shivering still in her blanket, though by now Hermione had calmed down enough so that she had to pretend to shake, she watched him approach.

"Hey, Penelope, right?" Neville asked as he knelt in front of her.

Hermione nodded.

"Look, I know things have been bad here, I imagine that your parents didn't want you coming here, did they?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

Hermione shook her head violently, "Mum's neighbor was a witch. When she heard about my magic s-s-she told her a-about everything. Our house was a M-muggle target, she said. When they saw I was a w-witch, that's w-when…"

"You're safe now, ok Penny? Can I call you that?" Neville asked.

Hermione nodded again.

"We're going to need to borrow that invisibility cloak you had. Can we do that?" Neville asked, his voice calm and soothing, like how Hermione used to catch him talking to his plants.

Hermione nodded, and just like that, she found herself in the care of Lavender Brown for the remainder of the time, knowing all the while that she would have to leave them, all of them, soon. The DA had marked up a calendar on the far wall. It was surreal, listening to Potterwatch, watching former classmates sometimes stumble back into the room, nursing bruises, broken bones, cuts, and the aftereffects of the Crutacius. Through it all, Hermione had to remain deaf and dumb, wanting so much to help, but not being able to give herself away. She found herself "accidentally" leaving books open to the right page on healing spells and how to better refine her own spell on the coins. It was all she could do and it didn't feel like near enough.

The days dragged on as she tried to help while appearing to be clueless, all the while sneaking sips of Polyjuice to maintain her cover. It wouldn't last much longer, Hermione thought mournfully as she swished the bottle in front of her. But then, it didn't have to anymore. Looking at the calendar, she almost jumped. Shocked, she turned to look at Neville who was limping still from the latest batch of injuries that no one had wasted precious energy to heal yet. How she itched to do it herself. She watched him as he checked the coin in his pocket and the beaming smile split his face. That was her cue, she realized. Not bothering with the last sip of Polyjuice, she skirted round the room trying to locate her cloak as quickly as she could as Neville disappeared down the tunnel towards Aberforth. She finally located it, carefully folded under one of the Gryffindor hammocks. Waiting for the inevitable, she watched as the door swung open again.

"Look who it is! Didn't I tell you?" Neville's voice rang out and seconds later Harry, Ron, and a younger version of herself spilled into the room to shouts and cries all over. Hermione used the noise as a cover as she slipped the cloak over her.

The commotion lasted as she heard Harry's bewildered question of "Where are we?" before she slipped closer to the small cupboard that opened onto a steep staircase. She quickly hurried up it, letting it take her around twists and turns, praying that her knowledge of the castle hadn't degraded over the years. The battle was coming. Adrenaline was already making her legs tremble slightly whenever she paused. She needed the time. Truthfully, she should have been at the boathouse preparing already. Pausing again as she encountered the wall at the end, she paused to draw a wand out of her bag. She needed to be away from where Harry would be when he started looking at the Map. As the wall dissolved at her touch, she stumbled out by the back stairs to the castle. She almost yelled. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she flattened herself against the wall. The Room really had outdone itself that year.

Almost frozen, Hermione found herself actually outside the castle, mist rising up from the lake. Dementors were still swarming over the castle grounds, haunting the world that they had all loved so much. She hated them. As much now as she had then. She watched them swirling. They were meant to keep students, and probably teachers, from leaving as much as keep help from coming. One was floating directly over the boathouse. She cursed. Cursed, cursed, and cursed some more. She would have to wait for the siege to start. Damn Riddle. Damn Snape.

She had already lived through this once. She would have to hear the screams again. The screams that _still_ haunted her dreams. Everyone she couldn't save. Everything that… No. This time, she would save someone. Fisting her hands in the robe she wore, someone had lent her a Ravenclaw's two days ago to throw over her own bigger, charmed one. It helped with filling it out, the body she wore was so skinny. Hermione summoned all her fury. She would need it. It seemed like hours when the voice rang out, echoing everywhere.

"I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood," the hissing voice rang out even in the darkening night, high, cold, and clear.

"Give me Harry Potter," said Voldemort's voice, "and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."

The voice still haunted her nightmares. Shuddering, she felt her body growing, knowing with certainty that she was now her old self again, the school robe now at her knees, the robe underneath only brushing her ankles. It was almost too late. She couldn't wait. She had to move, and move now. The dementors were pulling back, back to the line where she knew Voldemort would be. She ran. He would be there any time now. _Run, Hermione, run!_ she thought frantically, taking the steps two at a time.

The boathouse loomed before her. She saw the boat approaching from the distant shore, knowing by its slow and easy progress who it was. She ran faster.

Once inside, Hermione shuddered. It smelled the same. Strange how scents stayed with you the longest and tied you to memories you would rather forget. Looking at the glass window, her mind replayed the hideous sounds of a body hitting the glass with each strike. Levitating herself into the rafters, she started her spells.

She felt the spells hitting the boathouse as soon as he entered. The battle was starting. The wards would fall. She had to work hard to keep still, keep her breathing steady, when Voldemort entered. His robes hissed on the planks, almost similar to Nagini as she slithered along the boards. In her head, she repeated the steps she would need to take. The window of opportunity was so small. So very, very small. He paced to the window, hissing at Nagini in Parseltongue. The figure that stumbled behind him was almost unrecognizable. Shocked, she realized that the disgusting figure was actually Lucius Malfoy. He had made him row him there. The pride of Malfoy had been made to be little more than a gondolier.

The beaten and bloody, shaking and cowardly figure was nothing like the calm, collected, and contemptible man that she had known before the war and she had never seen him looking so worn. She watched as Voldemort paced to the end of the docks. He was a calm and silent figure looking over the lake. She felt it then, as her legs started to almost cramp in her tight position. The Anti-Apparition wards went down. She watched Lucius take a step forward, towards him and away from her.

"My lord, might it.. be les…uh, might it be more prudent to call off this attack? Simply seek the boy yourself?" Lucius stuttered.

"I do not need to seek the boy," Voldemort hissed, "Before the night is out _he_ will come to me, do you understand!"

Hermione winced, but checked the movement as she held herself impossibly still, though her arms started to tremble. Voldemort stalked towards him, lashing out a quick strike across his face, making Lucius jump and flinch away from him.

"Look at me!" Voldemort hissed, his face a grimace as he looked at his pawn as if he were a speck of dirt under his shoe. "How can you live with yourself, Lucius?"

"I don't know," Lucius replied quickly, holding his breath against Voldemort's barely checked rage and disgust.

"Go and find Severus," Voldemort said, leaning towards him with a hiss, "Bring him to me."

Hermione watched as Lucius practically tripped, stumbling back and away from him. She could practically feel the disgust that Voldemort felt towards him. The rage at such a display of weakness. She hadn't known just how...unhinged Voldemort had become in his last hours. If Lucius's behavior was any indication however, it had gotten as bad, or worse then the accounts she had heard before. It was a miracle that Snape had lasted in those conditions to this point. Dumbledore's murder could have only lasted him to a point.

"You may… Apparate now if you wish…" Voldemort said with open contempt in his voice as he turned away from him.

A shudder ran down Lucius's frame as his hand went inside his robes to the plain wooden wand concealed in his belt before he Disapparated. Shaking, she watched Voldemort stalk back to the edge of the dock and wait. After what seemed like an eternity of Hermione watching Voldemort with Nagini coiled tightly beside him, Snape appeared. Even though she knew what would happen, knew the bloody end, her mind paused for a moment to admire how smoothly he was able to Apparate into the location just below her.

"My Lord," Severus said, keeping himself in a low bow to the other man's back. "You sent for me."

"Tell me Severus," Voldemort said, his voice careful, controlled, but he did not elaborate.

"The wards have fallen. Many of Potter's friends have already fallen my Lord, their resistance is crumbling;"

"-and it is doing so without your help," said Voldemort in his high, clear voice. "Skilled wizard that you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there….almost."

"Then let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord," Snape said.

"I…" Voldemort cut off his words. "I have a problem, Severus."

"My Lord?" Snape asked.

Voldemort rolled the wand in his hands as he turned to face the other man. He held the Elder Wand out, delicately, deliberately. "Why does it not work for me, Severus?"

"My-my Lord?" said Snape blankly. Hermione could see the signs now. The master Occlumens building layers in his mind to try to deliberately conceal what he now must have guessed. Voldemort slowly began walking towards him.

"I do not understand. You have performed extraordinary magic with this wand my Lord, in the last few hours alone," Snape affirmed, carefully standing as still as possible.

"No," Voldemort said, "No. I am extraordinary, but the wand… resists me."

"There is no wand more powerful," Snape said carefully. "Ollivander himself has said it."

Hermione's eyes flicked to the windows behind Snape. She knew, balanced precariously though she was, that Harry, Ron, and her younger self were now back behind the glass.

"Tonight, when the boy comes, it will not fail you, I'm sure of it," Snape said, deliberately, cautiously as Voldemort came ever closer to him. "It answers to you. And you only."

Hermione gripped her wand under her robes. The school robe that had been given to her was now slightly small on her, tighter over the thinner, charmed robe that she had come back with. She almost didn't dare to breathe as she watched Voldemort's face constrict, the eyes narrow, and the nose slits flare. How Snape could actually face that man, with those features, using words to reassure him, as a mother would a child, Hermione couldn't guess. And he had done it countless times. For years.

"Does it?" Voldemort replied.

"My Lord?" Snape said.

"The wand, does it truly answer to me?" Voldemort asked as he stalked around Snape, his eyes locked on the other man's face. "You're a clever man, Severus, surely you must know. Where does its true loyalty lie?"

"With you, of course, my Lord," Snape said.

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner," Voldemort said, moving now back into range of Hermione's sight, wand extended, "You killed Dumbledore, Severus."

In her position, she watched Snape's face, the blank mask cracked for a second and if she had blinked she would have missed it. Voldemort continued moving forward, "While you live, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine. You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but only I can live. Forever."

"My Lord," Snape began, before Voldemort sliced at him, the first bloody cut appearing on his neck.

Hermione forced herself not to blink. Forced herself to watch, to watch with the detachment of a casual observer. Of a Healer, as she catalogued every injury as it was inflicted. She watched as Snape collapsed back against the window, flinching as the sound seemed to reverberate in the watery room. Shaking, she watched as the snake neared him. He was dead, she saw that he realized it in his eyes. There was no more mask. His heart still beat, but he was a dead man and he knew it.

"Nagini, kill," came the order.

She watched as the snake reared back and struck, first his neck, then shoulder, side, and arm, as the snake held on that last, thrashing as Snape did, hardly even bothering with trying to defend himself. Almost as if she was as vindictive as her master, Nagini reared back and struck him once more on his leg as well. Slithering back to her master, they Disapparated. Snape's breaths came wet, thickly, as he choked. Hermione bit down hard on her left hand to not cry out.

Then the door opened, as Harry, Ron, and her younger self walked in. Hermione watched as Harry dropped his wand, falling to his knees beside him. Knowing what she knew now, knowing how Harry had felt, how only moment ago all three had still thought him a traitor, she had never admired Harry more as he knelt, pressing his hand to the wounds on Snape's neck.

Hermione watched as Snape's eyes searched his face, searching, searching, even as she knew he was concentrating on the memories that now flowed from the tear down his cheek. He still seemed shocked that Harry was there, that anyone was there. Yet til the end, he was desperate to do his duty.

"Take them," he gasped out, gesturing weakly to his own face, "Take them. Please."

"Give me something, quickly, a flask, anything," Harry frantically said gesturing behind him.

Hermione watched as she conjured the flask from her bag to hand to him. Harry pressed his hands back to Snape's neck as he collected the memories. She could hardly see, barely hear.

"Take them to the Pensieve," Snape said weakly, almost as he tried to smile. "You have your mother's eyes."

He choked on the last words. _Careful Hermione,_ she chanted in her head, waiting for Snape to turn away, she let her hand form the complicated sigil of the spell.

"Immstatis Mortis," she whispered.

The spell found its target as Snape collapsed backwards and moved no more.


	8. Chapter 8: The Forest Again

" _Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy." – Albus Dumbledore_  


**May, 1998**

As soon as she cast the spell, Hermione began to count. Cursing at them in her mind, she wanted the Trio to just _move_ , to get _out_ , so she could get down to help. As soon as the door closed behind them, she moved. Not bothering with a spell in her haste, she practically fell from the rafters, her wand still tight in her fist, impatiently letting the cloak that had hidden her fall back where it had been snagged in the rafters and stay there. Its magic was almost done anyway, it didn't matter.

_22 seconds._

Hermione didn't even bother looking at all of the blasted buttons. A quick and carefully aimed slicing hex opened the high necked frock coat and once more for the white shirt beneath it.

Not even bothering with the seconds it took to search her pockets, she said, "Accio bag."

It flew to her outstretched bag as she quickly opened it to aim her wand inside, "Accio anti-venom."

This part was tricky. Nagini had been a fairly one of a kind snake. Her venom had been used to synthesize the anti-venom that had eventually led to the cure of Mr. Weasley. The problem had been getting it from St. Mungo's. Most had been used for experimentation with other compounds, so she had managed to get some under that pretense. The problem with that was that they had given her far too little for a quick healing job. She had stopped short of actually _stealing_ anything she needed, like one of the Auror's charmed invisibility cloaks. Harry offered to lend her his, no questions asked, but she didn't want to risk it on a venture like this and have it left in the past, maybe to never be seen again.

Gripping her wand handle in her teeth, she unscrewed the bottle and carefully used the dropper and sprinkled the anti-venom into the first strike into his neck, the golden drops vanishing into the deep gouges. Where most snakes used their venom to paralyze their victims so they could devour them, Nagini's seemed only serve the purpose of making her meals bloody. Hermione didn't understand it, but she wasn't trying to understand the bloody snake, she just wanted to fix her damage.

 _40 seconds_.

The stopper clinked back into the bottle. Her teeth dropped her wand into her hand and sliced open his coat and shirt over his left shoulder. More anti-venom went into the bite there. Inside her head she was focused, concentrated. Venom would make him bleed out. First, counter the venom. Then, stop the bleeding. Then, replenish blood. Then work on anything else.

_55 seconds._

Hermione cut two more slices, this time on his side, the fangs had sunk into the gaps between his ribs. Then, jamming her wand back into her hair to free both her hands, the bottle balanced between her left fingers, she splayed open the fabric with her hand as she dropped anti-venom into the wounds, trying to ignore the other signs of healing wounds and yellowish-green bruises only just beyond the vicious stabs of Nagini's fangs.

Going in the order that the wounds occurred she realized might be a mistake, but it was too late now. Leg bite, leg bite next, the arm could wait. As she sliced open the leg of his trousers, she started violently cursing the blasted snake as she worked. There wasn't enough blood here which meant that he had bled out mostly from the other wounds. At least the femoral artery was still intact and not torn, for which she was grateful to whatever luck Snape had.

_70 seconds._

Another four drops went into the wound on his leg. She ignored the arm for now. It was not actually a wound that would be great enough to kill him in the first few minutes. Everything else might. Quickly capping the anti-venom, she dropped it back into the bag.

"Accio dittany," she said with another wave of her wand.

_83 seconds._

Hermione dropped a liberal amount onto the neck slice, before going over the other cuts that she'd already dosed with the anti-venom. She'd researched and cross-researched to make sure that they would each complement each other in this situation.

_100 seconds._

Taking a deep breath, Hermione whispered, "Finite Incantem."

Immediately she saw the results as the wounds all at once began to hiss as the dittany tried to close the wounds, fighting with the anti-venom against Nagini's work. Thankfully his heart hadn't been strong enough due to blood loss to pump the venom throughout. He wasn't breathing. He didn't have enough blood for that. That meant he needed blood for her to start his heart, and she had a potion that she was sure he'd choke on if she tried to get him to force swallow it now, if she could get him to swallow at all without it all being poured into his lungs.

"Accio syringe," she said, waving her wand at the bag. Inside her head, she was counting, but for a different reason this time. The brain needed oxygen before it died. It needed oxygen from blood. There were very few things that she could fault the wizarding world in, but it was missing a significant amount in certain medical sciences. Hands-on medicine was dismissed as almost completely Muggle and purebloods so actively shunned it that certain things like syringes and injected medicines were almost completely ignored, amoung other things like psychology, for example. She'd had to modify the potion to a less potent form and add blood components for the direct injection.

_15 seconds._

Syringe in hand, she sliced open his right sleeve from the shoulder down to bare his upper forearm. It needed contact with muscle, but had to avoid major nerves and arteries, very similar to the reason why the upper arm was chosen for other injections. Stabbing it into the meat of his arm, she used only half of the full syringe. The plume of color in the paler then death skin showed it working. But it would stay localized if she didn't start his bloody heart.

_27 seconds._

"Incursu minima," she whispered, her wand forming a bolt in the air above his chest and his body convulsed slightly. Checking his pulse at his neck, she found it there. Weak, but there. The movies were dramatic. Sometimes it only took one shock. Thankfully. She hated that spell. But it meant she didn't have to count anymore.

"Ebublio oxygenis," Hermione whispered again, a bubble forming over Snape's nose and mouth. The increased oxygen would help brain function. Checking his arm, she found the color spreading out and up toward his chest and down his arm. Arm!

"Shit," Hermione swore as she transferred her attention to his left arm which was now beginning to bleed again now that there was blood to do so. But as she was about to cut again into his clothes she realized she had another problem.

"Accio dittany," she said clearly, but not without a little bit of panic.

She sprinkled it liberally over the neck slice. The first dose hadn't fully healed the artery. She didn't have enough healing knowledge for a spell to knit the specific artery itself back together, she wasn't even sure there was one. Still panicking, she ran over the wounds again with her eyes, and then felt for his pulse. Still weak, it was barely there. She needed more time.

"Im-," Hermione caught herself. Not with the bubble charm in effect. Cursing in a rather obscene manner under her breath about demon-snakes, evil wizards, and stubborn gits, as well as stupid witches who did things like go back in time, she began working faster, summoning bottles, applying her last round of anti-venom to the wounds, as well as more dittany to their now healing surfaces. She hated that snake. Hated, hated, hated that thrice-blasted thing. Even as the skin tried to knit itself together in front of her eyes, she could practically see the venom trying to counteract it.

The neck gash was almost completely healed. An extra two _Vulnera Sanentur_ sealed it completely. _You should have thought of it before, stupid girl,_ Hermione thought to herself as she recited Healing passages in her head, _spell is good for surface wounds as well as deep gashes._ The others though…. A quick diagnostic told her the rest. He desperately needed more blood.

"Accio Blood Replenishing Potion, bottle one," she said as the bottle flew from her bag and into her hand.

The bottle was one of the many that she had been so tirelessly brewing in her flat. Uncorking it with her thumb, she dismissed the bubble charm. Moving herself up and close to his left side, she stuck her wand again firmly into her hair before cradling the back of his head as she gently tipped the potion into his mouth. The result was almost instant as he coughed and choked, but managed to swallow as she saw his throat muscles constrict. Laying off, she sat back again. At quick spell showed him miraculously stabilizing. She conjured the oxygen bubble again. He still didn't have enough blood to get enough oxygen to his brain. Only then did she take in everything.

Blood was everywhere. Looking at the half-empty syringe, she cleaned it with a quick _Tergeo._ If he could swallow, he would be fine, but she wasn't taking chances as she flicked her wand, sending it capped and back into her bag. It was only then that she really took in her appearance.

Hermione was in blood almost up to her elbows on both arms. The small school robe was ruined for sure. Blood stained the sleeves, but thankfully it had acted almost like an apron and had saved most of her clothes underneath. Snape was… Snape was still a bloody mess. He was breathing high and fast now, but even that seemed a good sign right now. His coat. God, his coat was a ruin. Cuts ran it to pieces everywhere. She was shocked that it hadn't vanished to dust yet. She had the sudden and unreasonable urge to start mending it, but she knew that was stupid. It was soaked in blood, the shirt under it, wherever it peered through, was red. It was shocking orange-red, not like the deep red that was used to paint blood. It smelled. It smelled like death and mold and blood, metallic and sweet.

Hermione stopped, knowing that she was almost going into shock herself. She needed to stay focused. She went over him again with another diagnostic spell. Bleeding, there was still bleeding. Neck wounds were closed and closing, still bloody, but oozing, not streaming. His leg was knitting together, as well as his shoulder. Baring the fabric at his side, she hissed out a breath. The wounds were trying to close, but there was now bruising underneath the skin. The anti-venom must not have reached into the wounds and he was still bleeding, but more internally now. She hadn't thought of it, but then he hadn't had the energy to cough up blood before now did he?

Her brain immediately began spinning through her healing texts that she had read and practiced. Something, something, something about the concentration and focus being the key. Something to get the bad blood out…

"Advoco sanguinem," she cast finally, her wand carefully trained on the wound which now began to run red with blood again. She felt her head begin to ache as she concentrated, calling out the bad blood from the wound, leaving his lungs clear. In her mind she pictured it, willing her wand to carry it out. A quick diagnostic spell one more pronounced his lungs clear of blood.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she said again, this time picturing the wounds knitting together, beneath the skin, the wounds healing. By the time she got him stabilized again, she almost collapsed. She was draining herself too quickly. _Vulnera Sanentur_ was advanced magic and she hadn't had much practice with it. It was one of those spells that the witch or wizard developed a tolerance for the more they cast it. She didn't have that and she'd cast it now four times.

Stay focused. She needed to leave here. In less than an hour, the battle would truly begin. Reaching out for her bag, she was hit with a wave of exhaustion that had her blinking spots out of her eyes. It was something more than just the magic she'd cast, but she tried to ignore it as her fingers closed around the bag as she drew it into her lap. From where she sat, she could at least help with his arm. Drawing his left arm into her lap, a _Diffindo_ sliced the sleeve open once again. She tried to ignore the black mark on his skin as she cut the fabric from his wrist to over his elbow.

The wound was angry and red, the sides were torn and open from where the blasted thing had thrashed and hung onto him. Bruises stretched across his arm, standing out sharply against the pale skin. Blood was a brownish red in some places where it had started to dry.

Shakily, Hermione reached for the vial of anti-venom, applying a few drops to the wounds in his arm before capping it and dropping it into her bag. Dittany came next. She wished she could have managed another healing spell, but the adrenaline was leaving her as it was and she still needed energy to Apparate. The wounds still bled, but she could see it slowing. Checking his pulse again, she felt it there. It was still too weak, but it was there. Sighing, she dropped the Essence of Dittany back into her bag. She might need it later, and she only had the one vial.

Grasping the Blood Replenishing potion, she knew that she would have to have him drink almost a steady amount for some time, especially considering Mr. Weasley's treatment years ago. She just didn't know if she could get him to drink the rest yet. Half of what she had poured had been choked up and spilled down his chin. His breathing was better, she could tell. Frowning, she cast a brain diagnostic spell. Checking the points of light that appeared, she let out a sigh of relief. Everything was lighting up normally. Dismissing it, she felt the exhaustion hit again, letting the potion bottle fall into her lap as black spots danced in front of her eyes. Cursing, she realized she really shouldn't be trying to Apparate yet.

Hating herself, Hermione reached for the Mors Potestas potion in her bag. It was one of the things she didn't want to have to use, but had packed anyway, just in case. She wasn't even sure why she had included it, it wasn't exactly safe to use for extended periods of time. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The potion was the magical equivalent of taking out one's own bone marrow, turning it into blood, and then using it to replace one's own blood. It took the magic from the witch or wizard's lifeforce to replace the "working magic" that a magical person could use. She didn't want to use it, but she just couldn't afford to stay here. And, Hermione looked over at Snape, she definitely couldn't afford to splinch someone still suffering from acute blood loss.

Biting her lip, she flicked back the top. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she quickly took a swallow. The terrible smell completely contrasted with the sweet taste. Closing her eyes, she felt the heat hit her stomach almost as powerfully as alcohol. It felt like a burst of energy and she could suddenly _feel_ her magic again. It was a high. Everything seemed clearer. Hermione forced herself to focus, overcoming the magically induced rush.

Running the diagnostic spells again across his body, she could still see the weakness points flaring orange, but at least they weren't red. He was still missing too much blood. Dismissing the bubble charm again, Hermione summoned the Blood Replenishing potion back to her hand. Sliding up closer to his head, she wiped her hands as well as she could on her robes before trying to help cradle his head as she brought the bottle to his lips with her other hand. His eyes flickered behind his lids as he choked and swallowed another two mouthfuls. The rest of the potion spilled down the corners of his mouth. His face was still too pale. All of his skin was. Feeling his forehead, she found it was cold and clammy.

They needed to leave. They needed to be gone before the hour reprieve from the fighting was over. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed since the initial two minutes. Hermione vanished the first bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion. Checking one last time for his pulse at his neck, she grabbed the bag and stuck it in one of her pockets. Then, wrapping her arms as much around Snape as she could, she Apparated.

There was only one safe place that Hermione knew during the battle and shortly after. She had tried to find a safe house that would admit them, that would be empty during the Battle of Hogwarts and after, but nothing had been consistent. When the Order had gotten the call to fight, many stayed behind either because they were victims, injured, refugees, or simply Healers waiting for patients. After the battle, the safehouses had been used to catalogue the dead and heal the injured. Some had even been used for prisoners, what few they had been able to capture. So ironically perhaps, she had chosen the Forest of Dean, closer to the lake this time. At least it was warmer. When she arrived however, she didn't have much time to admire the weather.

"Shit! Shit-shit-shit," Hermione cursed as his blood began flowing in earnest.

Apparating must have somehow jarred the magically healing wounds. As she frantically separated herself from him to go for her wand, she kept at a litany of curses. She should have known. And now here they were in the open. She didn't know which danger to address first.

"Immstatis Mortis," she said quickly, causing Snape's body to collapse lifeless against the grass.

Frantically, she summoned the dittany once again out of her bag as her eyes frantically took in her surroundings. This was still war time, and dammit her reflexes weren't what they were and she didn't have the still honed reflexes of an Auror like Ron or Harry. She should have at least had some practice training, but she had been thinking of everything else. Adrenaline and the after effects of the Mors Potestas carried her through as she started counting again.

_10 seconds._

Throwing off both robes, her charmed one and the school robe sticky now with blood, she freed her arms for the more complicated wand work. The dittany joined them on the grass. Wards first, the healing. Wards at least she hadn't gone soft on. If anything, she had improved since her sixth year at throwing them up and keeping them strong. The first layer was simple protection from offensive spells.

_55 seconds._

Concentrating on counting and spellwork was growing difficult and she was growing increasingly thankful for whatever insight had made her pack that potion. The layer of disillusion charms came next. Basic for now, everything could be reinforced later.

_87 seconds._

Barely letting herself feel the exhaustion that was trying to overwhelm her, Hermione threw herself back down to the grass beside Snape. She needed to actually see everything now. A quick slash cut the string of buttons down the frock coat, peeling it open from where it was sticking to the shirt beneath and the skin beneath that. It was the side that was the true problem. Side and neck, she needed to get them under control, then leg, shoulder, and arm.

_102 seconds._

Slicing open the shirt beneath it, she paused for a moment to hiss in a breath before she forced herself to ignore to mottled bruising covering the skin, as well as the scarring, and instead focus on the current and deadly issues at hand.

Readying herself and her wand, she whispered, "Finite incantem."

Instantaneously, the wounds began to stream blood again. At least the first neck slice had stayed healed, but she wasn't actually surprised since that one hadn't been directly affected by the damn beast.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she whispered, working frantically on the bite on his neck which still seemed to be the worst.

A second one went to the one in his side, and a third to one in his leg. Thanking God for the potion's effects yet again, she summoned the dittany from where it was on the grass. Checking his breathing and pulse as she went, relieved that it was still there and she didn't have to start his heart again, she sprinkled a bit more of the dittany on the wounds.

"Accio Blood Replenishing, bottle two," she said, flicking her wand at her bag.

He needed to choke down a few more swallows before he was out of danger. Scooting up on the grass so that she could lever most of his upper body up and across her lap, she put the potion bottle to his lips. Gently pouring, she managed to get him to cough and choke down another few swallows before she capped it and set it aside. They were both filthy now by this time, but she wasn't going to waste time with cleansing spells, not when he might need another bout of healing sometime in the near future.

Content that he was at least out of danger for the moment, she conjured another bubble of oxygen around his nose and mouth. It would still serve him well to get the extra oxygen, at least until there was enough blood to circulate a normal amount. Slowly, she lowered him back to the grass. Taking up the school robe from where it was tangled on the grass, she threw it over his prone form. Stopping a moment to catch her breath, she set up a quick alarm spell to ring out if his condition changed. Then, she went back to her other robe.

Inside the robe she had charmed various pockets to hold specific objects. By the time she had finished, she felt very much like Mary Poppins packing up her bag, even more that she had in the summer after her sixth year. Feeling for the blue thread on the inside right, she tore open the pocket and with it the protection charm that she'd keyed to herself. Inside, she drew out the wizard tent.

It was frightfully basic as far as those tents went, but she wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible if she could. Thankfully, it was a one flick set up. Disappearing inside, she found everything as she'd left it. It wasn't even as spacious as the one she'd secured that fateful summer finding Horcruxes. Frankly, she'd been a bit disgusted with herself for that. There was a double bed that she'd left made up like a hospital bed in preparation for her guest, on a slight rise to the left that was separate from the main area of the tent. On a rise to the right was a "kitchen" area that Hermione had adjusted so that magic didn't have to be used during the actual food preparation.

There was a table, two chairs, and shelves on one side of the tent on the lower level. There were also two comfortable sofa chairs facing a fireplace. One of the best features however was the washroom which was in a walled off section off of the "kitchen". It was something that she'd insisted on, sacrificing a two bedroom tent for it in fact. First there was not only the sunken tub, but there was also a shower. Two quick spells on the inside trailed the water facilities to connect to the lake rather than the camping spells' normal draw which would have alerted someone to the tent's location. Exiting the tent she cast a _Mobilicorpus_ , to move Snape inside.

It was some time before Hermione could settle into anything that resembled calm. For all that she could tell, Snape was sleeping. She didn't know when she could anticipate him waking either. She'd unpacked her notes and books, save for two, into the shelves. There was a chest of drawers filled with clean clothes, including some finds that she didn't want to detail just _how_ she'd managed them. She'd also unpacked all of the potions bottles to the top shelf, making sure they were away from the fire, and quick to hand, just in case. The anti-venom was now perilously low, but she hoped that it had been enough.

Crossing the room and up the steps, she checked on him again. It was just such a shock, seeing him there. Alive. She had performed basic cleaning spells, cleaning his skin from the day's filth and other things. Even the more delicate ones she wouldn't dare use on the healing wounds though, she'd cleaned those with a light sponge, towel, and bowl of sanitized water. His shirt she'd thrown away, along with the frockcoat. Frankly, both had been damaged beyond repair. Certain spells might have been able to salvage them, but she didn't want to even try. Fabric mending had not exactly been her concentration and she would rather not admit the embarrassingly long amount of time that she would have to take with it.

It was surreal she decided. Studying him, he seemed unreal to her now, lying almost helpless on the bed. She had never really had a problem with dealing with Severus Snape, Potions Master, despite the hard times that he had given them in school. Now it seemed different. Maybe it was the years that she hadn't seen him. But he was the same as the day he d… the day he _almost_ died, she corrected herself. Because here he was, alive. His skin was still deathly pale, but somehow managed to retain an unhealthy, almost yellowing color. His nose was still large and hooked, that hadn't changed since their first year, and his hair still held an oily quality that apparently hadn't responded to the basic cleansing spell.

There were other things though, she thought, as she considered him. His eyes almost looked sunken, and what little color was in his skin seemed to be under his eyes that people normally received from either too little sleep or too little water. Hermione didn't want to think about the other parts of his anatomy that she could reflect on now. She'd treated the thigh wound, but only through the cut in his trousers. She wasn't that medically trained or even slighted inclined to be more forward in that direction. There was something that was worrying her though. Biting her lip absently, she approached the bed.

For modesty's sake, and the small chill that was now everywhere even in May at night, she'd drawn a sheet over most of Snape's body. To have tried to put him in any clothing would be pointless if there was another problem and the sheets would be easier to clean. Hermione had left his left arm free of it though. It was the wound that she most wanted to watch. Also, she hated to admit it, but it also was her indicator of what was happening in the final battle. She had been sure that it had been an hour already. Turning to the clock that she'd set on the side table by the bed, she realized it didn't help. She didn't actually know when Voldemort had fallen.

The Dark Mark still stood out, black against his skin. Watching, Hermione saw his arm suddenly twitch. Quickly drawing her wand, in case he actually was waking, she realized that it was only the sign that she had been searching for. His arm twitched twice again, until, as she watched, the mark began to fade. Unable to keep the grin from her face, she clapped a hand over her mouth, practically dancing with joy. She'd done it. Voldemort had fallen. She was alive. Snape was alive. Suddenly her knees went weak and she sat down hard on the stool she'd brought next to his bed as the full realization of what she'd done hit her. Just seeing him there, alive, breathing, and _there_ was enough.

Twisting her wand over him carefully in the complicated spell pattern, she tested out the magically induced sleep charm. It didn't seem to cause any harmful effects to his healing, so she left it there. It could only help him. Smiling ruefully, Hermione realized it was as much for her health as for his. She didn't want to wake up with a confused or angry former Death Eater, however injured, free around the tent. Especially not one as brilliant or talented as Snape.

Hermione had washed her arms before she'd charmed or cleaned anything in the tent, but she still had patches of blood sticking to her in places. Also, she was hungry. And now exhausted. The adrenaline was officially through. She barely managed to finish the spell that would alert her if his condition changed before letting her head fall into her hands, her elbows awkwardly propped on her knees. She needed a proper shower, a meal, and a change of clothes. Dragging herself off the stool seemed to be the hardest thing that she had done that day. By the time she had showered and changed, she decided that food could wait. She didn't even bother transfiguring one of the sofa chairs. She might have considered it, but as soon as she sat in the chair she was asleep before her head fell back against the cushions of the chair.


	9. Chapter 9: Awakenings

_"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it." – Albus Dumbledore_

**May-June, 1998**

The day after the battle was uneventful. Snape had barely flinched when she'd lifted the sleeping spell. She'd had enough energy by then to fully heal the wound on his arm, as well as fully heal the wounds on his leg and side. His neck was fully healed with the dittany as well, the skin smooth and completely without scars. The anti-venom had done the trick and his recovery would be much smoother than Mr. Weasley's had been.

As she went over him again, she saw some strange signs with her diagnostic spell, but she attributed them to him still recovering from blood loss. She didn't know the actual intricacies that were diagnostic spell results. She bit slightly on her lip as she looked over him. She'd gone over some of the healing texts that she'd brought with her. By all accounts, he should have been starting to come close to consciousness. Setting a charm to alert her if he was coming to, she went back to her notes that she'd spread out on the table.

She had a journal for every somewhat strange event that she'd found as evidence of things she might have done traveling back in time, as well as some on any reference she'd found to avid time travelers, the history of time travel, as well as healing texts. The most interesting text that she had found had actually detailed why Xenophilius had had the massive Time Turner in the first place. Flipping it open, she reread the paragraphs again.

_…the Davilius family was not only involved with the study of time, but also with the production of devices meant to aid their studies. They pioneered such devices as the Timeline Discrepancy Detector, the Pivotal Moment Pointer, and Tempocculars, which the Ministry of Magic still uses today to see all events that have occurred in a specific place in any time.  
Their fascination with time seems to have originated with Heyman Davilius II. In the late 14th century, he created the first ever recorded time-traveling device, a simple spinning sundial which would transport its user back exactly one day to the same sundial. His grandson, Thomas Davilius, refined the device to be more mobile when, in 1451, he modeled his apparatus after the hourglass. It was several hundred years before anymore refinements were made to the device, but the Davilius family was not idle. In fact, most of the records the Ministry have today on the study of time come from the records of the Davilius family._

_In 1650, Maria Davilius Dracona, the only daughter of the prominent Heyman Thomas Davilius III, pioneered a time-traveling device that was able to go back by hourly, instead of daily, intervals. It was her descendent, Lorcan Tempi Dracona, who expanded the time traveling opportunities to include years in 1701. It was at this point that the term "time-turner" was first found. These "time-turners" were crafted by the members of the Davilius and Dracona families, as well as a very tight-knit guild of their respective friends. Their products were sold for exorbitant prices, even in 18th century terms._

_Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on who you ask, the Ministry of Magic was also gaining power quickly at this time. In 1720, they used the fear and hysteria brought on by Svren Razorteeth's spree to pass the Protection of Time Stream for Magical and Non-Magical Persons Act. This allowed the Ministry to seize all existing time-turners and all materials related to their construction from both buyers and crafters. While it is unknown how effective such ministry raids were, what is known is that those devices and supplies that were seized were sent to storage in the newly constructed Department of Mysteries. Now all such devices are controlled by the DOM and need to be petitioned for and signed out with a pass at the Regulation of Time-Travel Desk._

_...  
1\. This of course is a reference to Razorteeth the werewolf, who utilized a time-turner to return to previously occurring full moons and infect Muggle and wizard alike at a higher rate than would have been possible if constrained to normal time. He was finally apprehended after 6 months, during which he lived through nearly 12 full moons._

Hermione snorted, collecting time-turners for everyone's safety indeed. That wasn't true now, she thought disgustedly. Putting all of them in the same place had only let them be exterminated easily.

Closing the book, Hermione drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the cover. Luna had been the one to tell her, quite proudly, that she had inherited several of her mother's family's heirlooms, one of which had been a Davilius Time-Turner that had been passed down through their family. It was one of the few unregistered in existence. Luna assured her that at least two of her great-uncle's family had at least one each, including other interesting bits that came from the Davilius family.

"It helped my mother a great deal," Luna had explained. "Her whole family descends from them you know. Their spirit of innovation was one of her greatest inheritances."

Setting _To Touch Time: Well-Known Travelers and Their Adventures_ aside, she frowned. Picking up one of the other texts, she paged through to the red marker that she'd found in it a few months ago.

_The_ Mors Potestas _potion , though taking fairly little time to brew, should be taken with extreme caution. Its original and intended use was for wizarding healers or combatants who needed one final push in order to accomplish their goals. Under no circumstances is it to be taken consecutively over long periods of time. If taken this way over three months, there is a chance that the user will slip into a coma in between doses. After four months of the potion's usage, the user will slip into a coma and never awaken. After this state has been reached, the wizard will perish within the week._

Hermione paused in her reading, stood, and walked over to her shelf of potions. Picking up the little bottle, she shuddered. From what she'd read, the withdrawal symptoms were just as nasty. Abruptly her wand buzzed in her pocket and she jumped. Immediately her heart began to pound as she hurried to the tent's bedroom, a shield charm readily formed in her mind, just in case.

As she looked, Snape didn't look different. Even his breathing hadn't changed. Going closer, Hermione still kept a careful distance. A slight hitch in his breathing was the only warning she had before his eyes snapped open. His eyes found hers immediately. A frown flicked across his face before his eyes flittered closed again.

"Of all people," he whispered, letting out a breath.

Hermione was frozen. That was nothing of what she'd expected. She had expected him to snap or yell, maybe even hex or curse her. At the very least, she had expected a trademark sneer. To all appearances though, it looked as if he had only fallen back asleep. Shaking herself, she crossed the small room to the bed, taking his wrist into her hand to take his pulse. She suddenly yelped and reached for his forehead with her other hand. He was burning up. Why hadn't her spell alerted her to that? Because she hadn't set it up for medical alerts, she answered herself. But why was he running a fever?

Panic seized her as she tried running diagnostics again. She wasn't cut out for this. She wasn't a Healer. She could treat him and had treated him because she knew what to expect. Suddenly she felt like a helpless child again as her brain frantically worked. She didn't do well under pressure, she never really had. What if she'd brought him back and saved him only to let him die?

"Stop it!" she hissed firmly at herself. "Get a hold of yourself. You've done this. You just need to figure out the problem."

Going back over him, she still found that the fever seemed to be the only symptom. He wasn't fighting an infection. There had to be something else! Fevers didn't just crop up without cause. And this one was starting to rise dangerously.

"Oh," she said her eyes wide.

Running from the room, jumping the short flight of stairs, she stumbled against the table as her eyes frantically started scanning the page she had just been on.

Hermione had thought it strange that the marker had been in this book in the first place. True, the potion had helped her when she had needed it, but she would probably have been able to succeed without it. She might have had to be more resourceful, but she would have been fine she was sure. But what if including that potion hadn't been to help her directly? What if it had been to show her what to look for? Her eyes scanned the pages until she found the symptoms of use.

_Frequent users will eventually begin to build up symptoms similar to jaundice which will only dissipate after the user has been without the potion entirely for a year. Sharp withdrawal from frequent and continuous use however must be treated with care, especially if potion use has continued semi-regularly for over a month._

Making a frustrated noise, Hermione skipped down to the list of symptoms.

_…and if use has continued to the point that the user has lapses in magical ability or is dependent on the potion for any working magic, weariness will begin immediately in between doses. A fever will immediately begin within 48 hours of the last ingested dose that can last for days, and in the severest, yet survivable cases, for up to a week. Sweating will commence within this period, especially around the face and hands. Body tremors will begin, and unfortunately after the user breaks the fever, body pain accompanied by hallucinations will…_

Hermione stopped reading. She had to be sure that this was his problem. Going quickly over to the potion shelf, she grabbed the Mors Potestas and hurried back over to Snape. Popping open the potion, she waved her wand over it with a quickly whispered, _aperio similis_. She flicked her wand again over his body and sure enough his body lit up. Traces of the potion seemed to be primarily focused in the area around his head and heart, with a light spattering around the rest of his torso and down his arms, mostly his right.  
Summoning one of the blankets, she started lacing it with quick cooling charms to help bring his temperature down. Laying a normal blanket over his prone form, she layered the spelled blanket over it.

The sweats seemed to already be starting. If the potions book was anything to go on, she would probably be in for a long week. Checking again, his temperature was rising still, but it seemed to be stabilizing at an acceptable level. Normally there were potions to help combat fevers, but most potions that would help partially relied on the user's own working magic. Those suffering from _Mors_ withdrawal could have little or none to draw on. Administering those potions would only make withdrawal symptoms worse.

Hermione moved one of the kitchen chairs beside the bed. She had spelled the bedside table slightly larger so that she could look over her books and her notes. Her time research she set aside. It was the healing books she poured over now.

Magically caused symptoms were normally dangerous to try and suppress, so she was going to go by the book there. It was only dumb luck that the Blood Replenishing Potion hadn't managed to clash with the symptoms. He still had a low blood count. The fever wouldn't help the healing with that. It would only get worse, and now she was going to have to get fluid in him to help him live through the fever. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she would need to feed him when he started to hallucinate. After she thought about it, she moved to the kitchen.

Hermione had placed several meals into a stasis state with a revised version of a spell that was normally used to preserve potion ingredients. She didn't think that he would be able to eat the high protein diet that she'd stocked, but the broth from the meat would definitely help and would count as a fluid with some nutritional content. Too much of this was based on inferences though. It felt right, but she didn't like following her gut, she liked research. Disgusted with herself, she released the spell over a container of beef stew, the smell and plumes of steam immediately filling the tent. Smiling, she poured some of the liquid into a wide lipped mug.

In the end, Hermione had managed to get him to drink another dose of potion, along with some of the broth. Somewhere in the middle he had started muttering something and she had backed off quickly so she could go for her wand. She wasn't sure if she should have been that paranoid, but she remembered seeing him in a rage before, she had seen him duel before (it certainly hadn't been long enough to forget that) and she had certainly heard stories from Harry too.

A few hours passed as Hermione continued to read and make notes for things that she could use to treat the coming symptoms. The most dangerous was the potential for seizures that would come later. Flicking her gaze up to where he laid on the bed, she frowned. Leaving the room, she returned with a small bowl of cool water and a cloth. His forehead was already beading with sweat, partially because of the fever, but sweats were another symptom entirely. Cleansing charms were fine, but after a point of their use, skin could become dry and cracked. Biting her lip, she sighed.

Setting the bowl beside the bed, Hermione dabbed the cloth into the water, carefully wringing it out. She didn't really know why she was doing this. Snape just looked helpless now. However much of an illusion that might be, she could at least admit it to herself.

He flinched when the cloth touched his forehead and his eyes flicked slightly. That was the only warning she got as his hand shot out from under the blanket and grabbed her wrist. Flinching back, she gasped as her eyes met his which were now clear and wide open. For a beat, they just stared at each other as Hermione's heart pounded. His eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" he rasped, his voice sounded rougher to her ears than the time she had been in the boathouse, but she wasn't sure exactly why.

Hermione looked confused as she said, "Hermione Granger."

Snape's eyes flickered back and forth between her eyes. Her face was too close for him to see them both at once. The suspicion was so clearly there that she didn't know what to say or do so she stayed frozen. After what seemed an eternity, his gazed flicked to the right where her wrist was clasped in his shaking grip. Releasing her quickly, she stumbled back, rubbing her wrist. For all that his grip had been weak and his arm shaking, he had been able to hold on tightly.

Letting his head sink back into the pillow, he let out a shaky breath, as if even that small action had tired him. Hermione watched him as he brought up a shaky hand, looking at it through hooded eyelids before reaching out and touching his neck. He frowned again with closed eyes as she could practically see him thinking as his fingers traced the skin that had been sliced, then where fangs had pierced.

"Where am I?" he asked, though it came off as more of a statement.

Letting out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, Hermione moved forward again and picked up the cloth from where she had dropped it on the sheet when he had grabbed her.

"We are in a wizarding tent, safe and away from the battle," Hermione replied, replacing the cloth into the basin. "In the Forest of Dean."

His eyes shot open again to stare at her, but she hadn't noticed as she moved around the bed to his right side where his arm was still shaking slightly on the disturbed covers. She moved to touch his arm, but when she saw him tense, she managed to touch only the sheets as she once again moved them and covered him once more. Looking back up to his face, she saw Snape watching her with narrowed eyes and open suspicion.

The clarity in his gaze didn't seem to want to last though as she watched it grow unfocused and he lost a bit more tension in his neck as he relaxed into the pillow. It was a strain, she realized, for him to follow her with his eyes.

"Sir?" she asked.

His eyes flashed again as his head twisted to regard her and sent her heart pounding again. How it was that he still managed to intimidate her while lying prone on a sick bed, was completely unknown to her. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she cleared her throat.

"Do you think you can drink something sir?" she asked.

"There is nothing you can give me to relieve this…Miss Granger," he said, the pause was greatly exaggerated before her name, for what reason she couldn't guess.

"I meant just water sir," she said, powering forward anyway.

Snape looked like he was going to argue, but she saw his eyes flicker somewhat and he only nodded. Hermione turned to go for the kitchen when his voice stopped her.

"A moment," he said, managing to speak though he looked like he should have been passing out. "A shirt?"

Every word was growing hoarser. Hermione just nodded and moved to the chest at the foot of his bed. Besides his now obvious problem, she had been prepared for almost anything. Buying the clothing had only been slightly awkward. As she pulled a shirt free, she forced herself to not think about it. Laying it next to him, close enough that he didn't have to reach for it, she left.

As she descended the short stairs to go towards the kitchen, Hermione started mentally kicking herself, her cheeks still flushed and heart pounding. The shirt was almost identical to the one she had practically shredded off of him, which meant buttons. His arms had been shaking only moments ago, how was he going to manage them by himself? Still, Gryffindor courage or not, she couldn't bring herself to offer to help when she knew that he would probably refuse anyway. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering why the bloody hell she had done this.

When she reentered the bedroom, she found Snape mostly upright. His entire body seemed to radiate exhaustion, but he had managed to prop the pillows up behind him and button the majority of the shirt. The cuffs let the white fabric spill limp over his hands which were barely a shade darker than the shirt. Even so, he managed to carefully watch her as she walked over with the glass of water. She had taken more time than necessary to allow him privacy for his attempt, and she was honestly shocked at his progress. There was tension around his eyes and the shaking intensified as she neared. She could tell why. His entire body was as tense as a bow string.

Hermione tried to act normal as she tried to hand him the glass of water, but his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold it. His second came up to steady it, his hands dropping a bit as he took the weight. She was glad that she hadn't filled it up completely, she thought as she carefully avoided watching him as he struggled to sip at it. Making a show of straightening the books and papers that she had set aside on the table, she tried to give him privacy while still being close enough to help if he needed. The silence seemed to be deafening. Frowning, she felt his eyes on her, but when she turned to him he was looking at the cup now in his lap.

"Finished sir?" she asked.

She had been expecting a sneer or at least a comment in reply, but he simply extended the glass and she quickly moved forward to grab it before his shaking let it slip to the floor.

"Do take your insufferable scribbling with you when you go, Miss Granger," he said, with only a hint of his trademark sneer.  
Hermione didn't even have it in her to get angry at the quip. Frankly, it didn't even come close to his normal heat. It had been so long though, it was possible her younger mind had only exaggerated it. As she stacked her things to go, she shook her head to herself. She highly doubted it. Looking back at the bed, she saw that his eyes had fallen shut again. There was still a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes still looked sunken, and she knew that it wasn't even close to how bad it might get. Biting her lip, she ran a diagnostic spell over him again. His fever was still raging, but it was also holding steady just under a danger level.

"And due restrain yourself from twitching your wand over me," Snape said, his eyes never opening. "As I said. There is nothing you can do."

"I know," Hermione replied as she tucked her wand into her pocket.

At least she got a response with that. His eyes flickered open and narrowed as he looked at her.

"Mors Potestas withdrawal," she said, holding his gaze in a calm, matter of fact manner.

He scoffed slightly, but the strength and hoarseness of his voice completely took the edge off of his next comment.

"Ever the know-it-all, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice trailing off as his eyes closed once again.

"Apparently, sir," she replied with a half-hearted grin that he wouldn't see now.

Looking at him, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if he was already asleep. Sighing, she shook her head and left the room. That had been much…tamer than she had expected. Less dangerous certainly. Originally, she had planned on facing a man that had all of his magical faculties at hand. At least the onset of the fever from the withdrawal had guaranteed that she didn't have to face that side of him yet.

Setting her things down on the table, she sat back in her chair. It was back to research. No matter what he said, there had to be something that she could use to help combat symptoms. The seizures associated with this withdrawal could be deadly, if not permanently damaging because they were normally sever and long in duration. If she saved him to only let a part of his brain die, she knew that it would be for nothing. Propping her head in her hands, she watched the words blur together on the page. She was still exhausted. But she knew that if Snape ended up like a stroke victim with permanent brain damage, she would have to be worried about him dying for the rest of her life and his. She couldn't see a man like him living long like that. Hermione doubted that he would want to, someone who was as fiercely independent as Snape was. She tried not to think like that.

Looking up, she saw that the blankets had been half pulled up, but he looked like he was sound asleep. Staying down the stairs, but never actually climbing them into the room, she set up another alarm to alert her if he woke. Another quick flick gently covered him with the blankets. He didn't stir. Giving herself a moment's indulgence, Hermione watched him sleep. Shaking her head, she turned away. She had things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of my two year old project. The next two chapters will be polished easily. Fair warning though, I have to go through all of my notes and timelines for twelve and later. I hope you're enjoying so far!


	10. Chapter 10: Unanticipated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully posting the next chapter soon. I'm posting this completely unbeta-ed because I want to feel like I'm making progress here. If anyone would like to edit let me know. Any mistakes are mine. :)

_"'Course Dumbledore trusts you," growled Moody. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances.” – ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody_

Snape slept for the rest of the day. During the night, Hermione thought that she had felt her wand buzz an alert, but when she checked on him, he was still sleeping soundly. Her research the previous day had hardly been conclusive. She had brought the potions text, but she hadn’t brought extensive research in treating withdrawal symptoms, especially not withdrawal from one of the rarely used potions.

Moving around the tent that morning, Hermione put a kettle on as she went about making some light food. She figured if he was up for trying solid food, she could try scrambling eggs with broth to drink. Frowning when she entered his room, she saw that the water glass she had left by his bed was almost empty.

“Miss Granger,” his voice said, making her jump. She was going to have to double check the alert spell on her wand.

“Yes sir?” she asked, picking up his water glass to give her an appearance of doing something besides checking on him.

“If you would not mind aiding me?” he asked, drawing back the covers.

Hurrying forward, she said, “Sir, I don’t think that getting up is such a good…”

“It’s necessary,” he said with a pointed look in her direction that made her blush and shut her mouth.

Magic made having bedridden patients easier with cleaning spells, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant for the patient who couldn’t make use of the facilities because they couldn’t stand and walk. 

The way Snape held his right arm tight against his side made her approach from his left. Every one of his motions was stiff and tense as he place his left arm around her shoulders and Hermione helped him stand. His entire body radiated heat still and she felt his left hand slightly damp from sweat on her shoulder. Fine tremors seemed to rack his body as she hesitatingly put her right arm around him. Once again, she was struck by how thin he was. She never thought of him as thin, even though it should have been obvious to the eyes. His personality somehow belied his physical appearance. 

As they moved towards the bathroom, she felt him begin to lean heavier on her as they walked down the stairs towards the greater living area. Hugging the wall as they approached the stairs up to the kitchen, she felt his back muscles suddenly tense under her hand and his arm jerked off of her shoulders. It was seconds before her back was slammed against the wall and his right hand was pressed against her throat, his face in hers.

Breathing heavily in panic, Hermione froze. Her right wrist was gripped in his left hand, though she hadn’t even been able to think of going for her wand. Snape’s eyes were frantically scanning her face, taking in everything.

“Who are you?” he breathed into her face.

Heart pounding in her throat, she couldn’t make herself answer yet. She had no idea what had happened in between the cordial conversation the previous day and now. She couldn’t think of anything she had done to make him suspicious. A panicky thought that he had begun to hallucinate crossed her mind, but his hands were still feverishly warm. Fever mean that hallucination s wouldn’t begin yet.

“Hermione Granger,” she said. “Sir, I told you that.”

His eyes were still scanning her face. 

They narrowed as he asked, “In your second year you had an… unauthorized potions mishap. What happened?”

“What?” Hermione breathed, barely able to formulate a thought.

“What did you consume. What was the result,” he said. Both were statements, not questions.

“I…” Hermione managed to say, her heart pounding in her ears, “I brewed Polyjuice Potion.”

“And?” he continued, his eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t use human hair,” she breathed, “I thought it was, but it was cat hair.”

His eyes relaxed somewhat before the hand on her wrist tensed again. “There was an incident where you were hexed outside of my classroom by Draco Malfoy… What did I say?”

Hermione flinched, before she said, “There were many times where we had confrontations with Draco.”

“ _Answer_ the question,” he hissed close to her face, his hand tensing around her throat.

Hermione knew what situation he was referencing. It had made her cry herself to sleep that night. And the night after that. It still bothered her. It was just one of those comments made by someone that she should have been able to trust, that had just _hurt_. It had reinforced an argument that she’d had with her mother recently too. She had been so overly concerned about her teeth after it.

“You said that you saw no difference,” Hermione choked out, though it was because of the tears rapidly rising in her eyes, rather than the hand on her throat.

Abruptly Snape released her, stepping back two paces. Frowning, he turned away, making his way perfectly well up the last two stairs and into the bathroom, the memory of a limp and weakness forgotten. Closing her eyes, Hermione swallowed back tears, her hands at her throat. Not able to hold it back, a whimpering sob burst out from her lips before she tore almost blindly through the living area, swatting aside the tent flap, before she gulped in air as she stood outside, her eyes squeezed shut and her face to the sky.

Her mind was reeling. Hermione couldn’t even begin to wonder why he had just done what he did. Once again, she was fifteen, still terribly insecure about how she looked, and ugly. She remembered that year. It had been a lot of firsts. Her major triumph had been the Yule Ball, when she had finally succumbed to the many of the tips her housemates had attempted to give her for years. Ginny had even been a God-send. It had been her turning point, she knew. But Snape’s comment had stung then and it still stung now. She had thought she had banished those memories, erased them somehow. Apparently not.

Forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths, Hermione relaxed her hands that she hadn’t even known that she had clenched into fists. Looking down at them for the first time, she was shocked to see two of the red half-moons her nails had pressed into her palms looked terribly close to bleeding. She made a disgusted noise. How had he made her feel like a child within a minute? Anger helped. Furious, as much with herself as him, she ducked back into the tent. 

The bathroom door was still closed as she glared death at it. A low whistling jolted her out of wherever her mind was going and she hurried to set the kettle off the heat. Forcing herself to take calming breaths, Hermione set a teabag in one of her larger mugs, pouring the hot water in to the brim. She missed the teapot that Mrs. Weasley had given her. Though she hadn’t planned on keeping it, it would have been a nice reminder of home if she had been able to take it with her. She sighed. Now she wouldn’t be able to use it again, and she didn’t even know why. There was so much about her mad plan that she didn’t know.

After hesitating a moment, she pulled another mug free and set another black teabag in it, pouring more of the hot water. Setting the kettle down, she braced herself against the countertop, letting out a shaky breath. She could do this. She hadn’t saved him to only continuously repress the desire to kill him. She still wished that in all of her research she had found a justifiable reason that had set off the cycle in time.

She barely heard the bathroom door open, but it was too quiet in the tent for her not to. Refusing to turn around, Hermione made her way around the kitchen, retrieving a pan from one of the cabinets before going to the small fridge and retrieving the small carton of eggs that she’d stored there. She was determined to not let him know that he had unnerved her.

“You are not the Hermione Granger that came into the boathouse with Potter,” his voice said from behind her.

Hermione flinched slightly at the suddenness of his voice in the room. Still determined, she cracked the eggs, dropping the shells into the kitchen wastebasket before she answered.

“No. I’m not,” she replied, rinsing her hands before turning to look at him. Somehow, sick and recovering though he was, he had managed to almost soundlessly make his way to one of the kitchen chairs and was staring at her. Leaning back against the counter, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You could have just asked and I would have told you.”

Snape narrowed his eyes as he looked at her before leaning forward and pressed steepled fingers to his lips. “And how else, pray tell, could I have phrased the question? What, do you suppose, should have been my reaction to a girl claiming to be someone that is different than the girl I knew from my classes? Who clearly knows more than she is willing to tell.”

 _Arrogant son of a bitch,_ Hermione couldn’t help thinking. _You could apologize for almost killing me._

“Again, you could have asked,” Hermione said.

“Did I not?” he asked. “Your answers let much to be desired.”

His eyes flicked back to where they had had their confrontation before smirking at her, as he said, “Clearly.”

“I– ,” Hermione sputtered before she clicked her teeth together sharply as his smirk deepened. He was enjoying this was he?

“I am five years older than the Hermione that was with Harry when you gave him the memories,” Hermione said. “I used a Time-Turner to come back to save your life.”

For an instant, Hermione thought she saw an actual, genuine, moment of emotion on Snape’s face. He was truly, deeply, shaken and shocked. And just like that it was gone. He settled back in his chair, suddenly looking completely bored with the question as he asked it.

“And why would you do that?” he asked.

 _Why indeed._ Hermione sighed.

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?” she asked him.

His eyes narrowed as he replied, “No.”

Hermione shrugged and turned back around, adding milk to the eggs and then whipping them with a fork from a drawer. Setting them aside, she strained her teabag against a spoon before setting it in a small bowl taken from one of the lower cabinets.

“How do you like your tea?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I don’t,” came the acerbic reply, “I drink coffee. Though I suppose if you don’t have any, the tea will do.”

Forcing herself to not growl, or sigh, Hermione fixed his mug like hers, setting it before him on the kitchen table before going back to fixing the eggs. Setting them on the heat, she used the opportunity to sip at her own tea. Partially to drink it while it was still hot, though if she was being honest, she could have admitted it was so she had something to do with her hands as she turned round to look at him again.

“So would it be safe for me to assume that you will be offering up more of an explanation as to why you and I are in a tent in the Forest of Dean at this time?” he asked. His voice was causal, true, but somehow it was also antagonistic. 

“Do you feel well enough to eat?” Hermione asked, deflecting.

“Meaning that meager repast would be meant for me?” he asked, letting her change the subject.

Hermione nodded, before turning to work on the eggs that were cooking nicely.

“Do you like them dry or runny?” she asked.

He made a noise that sounded disgusted, but when she peered back at him, he was only sipping at the tea, for all appearances as if he hadn’t done anything else.

“Dry, not burned,” he said finally, setting his mug down.

The rest of the time passed in silence as she finished the eggs, dividing them out onto two plates. When she had finally set both plates down with forks, salt and pepper, napkins, and two glasses of water, she realized that he was sweating again.

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help?” Hermione asked.

His black gaze flicked upwards towards her as he raised an eyebrow, taking only a moment to realize what she was referring to, before he shook his head. The motion made the light play over his face and suddenly she realized what was really felt odd about this situation. She was only used to memories of him and the most recent of those memories was five years old. Maybe her youth had colored them in the darkness she always felt should surround him, but so many of those memories had been in the dungeons. 

The light in the tent certainly didn’t flatter him. His skin still had a sallow quality, but was only made more so by the lighting. The look however on his face was nothing new. In fact it was almost comforting to see the snide and condescending look on his face.

Snape folded his hands, interlacing his fingers, and rested them on his chin.

“Have your tendencies changed so much?” he asked, “Tell me Miss Granger, have you ever treated, been treated for, or read on the treatment for magical depletion?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I’ve only just read on it.”

Snape sighed, “Of course. Now, do list the symptoms and the timeline for me.”

“And do try to restrain yourself from giving me a textbook quotation as you answer,” he said sardonically when she first opened her mouth.

Hermione clicked her teeth shut, barely restraining a glare. She had been ready to start quoting. She pictured the text in her head before she paraphrased.

“Extreme exhaustion, normally followed by a quick temperature spike, before semi to extreme body aches,” she said. “Depending on how quickly or completely magic is drained, the timeline can differ.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” he said, “Now, tell me. Can a mundane fever result from a magical cause?”

Hermione’s first instinct was to say no, but she forced herself to think. Ignoring her confusion at his line of logic, she thought. Magical cause, magical cause. What constituted magical cause… Attack from a magical creature, a spell or hex, a potion… Of course!

“ _Stellis Potion_ ,” Hermione said, perhaps a bit louder and more excited than intended. “Because of the properties of the ingredients, it tricks the body into thinking that there is a virus, which causes an extreme fever as the body works to fight it. So though technically, because the ingredients were magical meaning the cause of the fever was magical, the resulting fever wouldn’t technically be caused by a spike in the drinker’s magical stores which would constitute a magical fever.”

“And could this fever be lowered by mundane means?” Snape asked.

“Like ibuprofen?” Hermione asked as she thought out loud. It should work. Mundane fevers were caused by a body’s antibodies essentially overtaxing themselves which caused a fever as they tried to combat a foreign presence. “Yes?”

“Are you asking me or telling me Miss Granger?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“Telling you,” she snapped, her joy at answering questions and just _thinking_ vanished as she became irritated again.

“And you would be correct,” he said, a trace of a smirk on his face. “You already partially answered my next question then. What constitutes a magical fever?”

“A magical fever is a spike in the magical stores of the victim. The victim’s magic attempts to rise and combat the magical malady,” she replied.

“And would my condition be magical or mundane?” he asked.

“Magical,” Hermione said with a frown.

“So you now see why doing anything would be… counterproductive?” he drawled slowly.

“I… oh,” Hermione shut her mouth. 

She did see. The fever was a rise in his magic. That meant that it wasn’t necessarily fighting a foreign magical malady, it was just a longer and more extensive rise in his magic as it attempted to come back. It _would_ be counterproductive. She had originally been hesitant to try a magical cure to the symptoms because it would have had to use his magic to help. Now she realized that if she actually did anything to _help_ lower the fever, it would _hurt_ his recovery.

He simply raised an eyebrow before turning to his food. Hermione tried to ignore the smug look as she turned towards her own.

After breakfast, Snape had refused, rather rudely, to be helped anywhere. She pointedly ignored him then as his foot snagged slightly on the carpet that made him trip into the chair he had been headed towards. She also ignored the sharp intake of breath as he sat. The disgusted noise however, she did eventually acknowledge.

“Problem?” Hermione asked sharply, throwing a dishrag down next to the sink and then practically stalking down the short stairs to the common room.

“It really is no small miracle you managed to heal me at all,” Snape said, shuffling through her notes. “For all that you were underprepared, or so it would seem, I am shockingly whole and in one piece. And hardly a lick of Healer training. A grave error on your part to risk all of this, especially on my account. It begs the question, why did you do it?”

His entire manner was still antagonistic, but there was a wary curiosity there.

Hermione sighed, crossing over to her folder of notes that she had tucked in the bookshelf. There were probable newspaper clippings, arithmantical equations, notes on different occurrences that had seemed strange or out of place.

“I followed the breadcrumbs for the most part. It turns out I had saved someone in the past. I went through events to find out who, where, and when. It had already occurred,” Hermione said, knowing it wasn’t much of an explanation. 

“And somehow this led to you choosing me?” Snape asked, clearly so skeptical that it made her instantly defensive.

“It happened to be you. I had no part in choosing,” Hermione said. “If you’ll excuse me sir.”

Brushing past his slightly amused face, she chose the other table to work on. And just like that, Hermione thanked God that he let it go. The rest of the day he spent pouring through her notes, pausing only once to ask for a quill and ink. After that, she had regretted it. His spidery scrawl began dominating her own pristine notes like he was slashing through her school essays. The next few days passed in a rather uneventful way.

Together they established a wary routine. Snape still slept in the bedroom, after Hermione had finally been forced into showing him how well a transfigured couch suited her. He had only briefly touched her notes and the newspapers that she had kept with her. For the most part, it seemed that he truly did not want to know. He did however crack open the _Ars Potentia_ issues that she had brought. They had relaxed into a companionable silence. Occasionally she would try to run a diagnostic spell, but he always caught her with a glare. The first time she had jumped, but every time after she either shrugged at him or glared back. 

Food preparation was divided. She was spared having to decide what would be safe for him because of him choosing it for himself. It got easier and after a few days they were able to choose from Hermione’s food stores in a way that suited them both. 

It was the silence that was getting to Hermione though. At first it was uncomfortable. She always felt that she should somehow fill in the gap with noise, but she never knew how so she was left to awkwardly read or write. Eventually it got easier though and didn’t seem so forced. She lost herself in research and organizing herself. One day though, she felt about ready to snap from the stillness when Snape surprised her by speaking.

“You never did tell me how the world is faring now without it’s chosen one,” Snape said.

“What?” Hermione asked abruptly, looking up from the pad on her lap.

Snape looked at her like she was one of his moronic first years.

“The chosen one,” he said sarcastically, “The Boy-Who-Lived-Only-to-Have-to-Die.”

“Harry?” she asked, so genuinely surprised that it took her brain a moment to catch up.

“Don’t try faking stupidity, Miss Granger, it really doesn’t suit you,” he replied.

“Harry’s alive,” Hermione said. “I’m sorry, it-. I mean, I forgot. You wouldn’t have known that.”

Snape’s expression was growing darker, as he said, “Please, go on.”

Hermione cleared her throat before she replied, “Well, Harry explained it to me after, but it still seemed more mystical than anything. Voldemort hit him with the Killing Curse, but somehow, it killed the part of Voldemort that had attached itself to Harry, rather than Harry himself. Harry told us more about it later. He said that he did die for a moment, when he decided to let the horcrux die, rather than die himself. He said that he actually had a hallucination, well, he didn’t phrase it that way, but he said he had a conversation with Dumbledore…”

“Don’t,” he hissed.

Hermione jumped as Snape abruptly stood up. Most of whatever color he had regained in the past few days had completely drained from his face. Abruptly he swayed slightly, catching himself on the table in front of him as he shook his head. Looking up, his eyes caught something slightly behind Hermione’s left shoulder and widened alarmingly, making Hermione go for her wand as she turned around.

There was nothing there, just the bare tent wall and the exit leading to the forest. When she turned back around, Snape’s eyes were closed.

“How many days has it been?” Snape asked tightly.

“Days?” Hermione asked, looking towards the calendar before realization struck. “Eight.”

It had been eight days since the withdrawal symptoms had first appeared. Eight days of fever. As it was, it was dangerously close to having the fever go on too long. The next phase would have to begin if there was a hope of survival. From his actions, it seemed like it had.

Warily it seemed, Snape opened his eyes. His arms marginally stopped shaking and he seemed to gain enough control because he brought himself upright.

“We should have spoken of this before,” he said tightly. “But as it is, there is no time.”

“The hallucinations have started?” Hermione asked. “The tremors should have been more prominent-”

Her voice cut off as he held up a hand that was now trembling in earnest.

“I have experience in hiding certain tremors,” he said, “At least they will soon cease. Now. I recommend that you help in restraining me. I had hoped that these hallucinations would be benign in nature, but it appears I was incorrect and my preparations were for nothing. Come.”

He turned and quickly climbed the stairs.

“Restraints?” Hermione asked, her voice strained as she followed him.

Snape paused on the stairs and turned halfway back to her as he replied, “Miss Granger, though I am without magic, I am not without defenses. I would rather not hurt myself or you accidentally by mistaking you for someone else. As you can imagine, my subconscious has many demons it might resurrect. None of which you would like to be mistaken for, or have me fight, phantoms though they may be.”

Hermione followed him up the stairs without another comment.

Several spells later, including restraints transfigured from an extra blanket that reminded Hermione of Muggle hospital restraints for his wrists and ankles, medical alerts for seizures, and, at Snape’s insistence, a silencing spell for higher volume voices, Hermione backed off.

“How will you let me know you need anything though?” Hermione asked after the silencing spell settled onto her reluctant patient.

“I believe my speaking voice will carry,” Snape replied, his eyes shut, strain showing at the edges. “Believe me Miss Granger, I am not looking forward to this. You should not either.”

“Then why drink the potion? Surely you must have known the consequences,” Hermione said, lingering in the doorway.

“Surely you must have worked that out by now Miss Granger,” Snape snapped, his voice strained in its forced whisper. He opened his eyes to glare at her. “It was for the simple reason that I did not anticipate my survival.”


	11. In the Mind's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any and all mistakes are mine, still looking for a good beta reader :)

_

"I have played my part well," said Snape. "And you overlook Dumbledore's greatest weakness: He has to believe the best of people...." – Severus Snape

_

No sooner had Hermione descended into the living area then the noises begin again. A pained whimper made her look back, seeing Snape’s head thrash on the pillow. His body was tight as a bow string and Hermione could see the tendons standing out in his neck, even as far back as she was. Shivering, she turned away. It wouldn’t do any good to watch his torment and she knew it would only hurt his pride if she stayed.

Forcing herself to stay busy, Hermione tidied up, organizing papers, finally being able to safely read all of Snape’s scrawled notes without fear of him creeping up on her. The spidery scrawl covered portions of her notes, pointing out mistakes or better ways of doing things when she had been preparing how to heal potential injuries that Snape had or would incur in the past. The most extensive had been detailing the withdrawal symptoms that the book had only hinted at. Snape had given her a timeline it seemed with descriptions and warning signs.

 _Body tremors signal the end of fever stage. Good predictor for how intense, if any, seizures a patient will have. If the tremors are localized in area and sharp and quick in intensity, signs point to large and potentially deadly seizures. Small tremors that are continuous and not localized in only one or two areas indicate possibly small seizures, with limited or no permanent brain damage. (Signs indicate I will have several minor ones_ was scrawled on the side) 

_The end of the fever indicates the beginning of the hallucination stage of withdrawal. Signs indicate they will last from one to two days with a relatively high chance of survival._ (Hermione blanched slightly wondering if he meant surviving the withdrawal or surviving his hallucinations.) _Unsure of the vividness or duration of hallucinations. Restraint during this period is highly advised. Danger of seizures occurs at the end of this stage._

Hermione swallowed as he listed a few anti-seizure spells that could be effective if cast correctly and at the correct times that could counter any potential for brain damage. As she shuffled through the papers, she realized that there were noises coming from the bed that hadn’t registered as she had been lost in the information given her in his notes. Looking up, she yelped, dropping the papers as she ran for the makeshift bedroom, wand in hand.

Snape had jerked at his bonds and was straining against them, his back tensed, every muscle working at getting himself off of the far side of the bed and away from whatever it was he saw in the living area. His mouth was open, working, but he wasn’t making a sound. As Hermione neared, she realized it definitely wasn’t for lack of trying. He was breathing like he was screaming, but the silencing spells kept her from hearing. At least whatever was terrifying him saw wasn’t her or something she’d become. His dark eyes looked straight through her. Her heart constricted in pain as she watched. Lifting her wand, Hermione whispered the counterspell for the silencer and jumped, quickly bringing it back up. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to cry as chills shook her whole body. The anguished and terrified scream echoed in her ears, long after she had silenced it. 

Hermione forced herself to watch as Snape’s eyes finally grew dull, his body collapsing back to the bed. He took in huge gulping breaths that were quiet enough to echo through the tent as he shook. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling as his chest heaved with gasps. His eyes found clarity, chasing phantoms on the ceiling, his eyes moving rapidly as Hermione watched. At least the terror was gone. Sighing, he turned onto his side as much as the restraints would allow, curling in on himself away from her. Hermione backed down the steps, watching him breath, relieved with every breath that wasn’t a scream.

Trembling slightly, Hermione made her way the kitchen, putting on a kettle. Sinking to the floor, Hermione brought her hands up to her face. She wished she could will them into not trembling. She decided then and there that she wasn’t going near that potion again.

Nearly an hour later, Hermione had her fingers laced around a now cold mug, tucked into the chair that she regularly transfigured into her bed. She had turned it to face the bedroom fully now, no pretense of privacy needed anymore. The hallucinations were intermittent and thankfully nothing as extreme as the first. A whispered voice startled her out of her musings.

“-anger,” Snape managed before coughing.

Hermione bolted out of her seat, hastily dropping the empty mug into her chair. She leapt up the short landing. Snape had rolled on to his back, blinking and squinting at the ceiling.

“What can I do?” she asked hastily, setting her wand on top of the table.

“Water,” he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse and raw.

Hermione reached for the full water glass beside the bed, helping him lift himself up on the pillows to drink. It didn’t seem like he even needed to remember to whisper. It seemed all he could manage. Her heart constricted again painfully, removing the glass when he tilted his head up and away. Hermione set the glass aside.

“That will be all Miss Granger,” Snape said, sending her a withering glance, “Do take your hand wringing elsewhere.”

“I’m n-,” Hermione barely bit back a retort before sighing exasperatedly, grateful that whatever feeling had been gripping her chest evaporated in the wake of his unpleasantness. “Do you think you can eat something?”

Snape opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else to make her regret her decision, when he closed it, looking slightly confused.

“I.. What are you doing here?” Snape whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Sir?” Hermione asked, confused. “I asked if you wanted something to eat.”

“You shouldn’t have. You can’t be here. You have to go,” Snape whispered, eyes wide and darting. “It’s not worth you getting caught. Thank you but go. You have to go now.”

Hermione backed away, realizing that whatever the man before her was seeing, it certainly wasn’t his former student. His eyes were opened wide, frightened, as he darted a glance over his right shoulder to the blank tent wall.

“You can’t get caught here. Go. Now!” he said, his voice choking to mute as it raised too loud, his eyes too wide, too terrified.

Hermione left quickly, not wanting to further the fear of what would happen to her in his eyes. As she turned the corner she heard muted whimpers and pleading that she never should have heard come from his mouth. Hating every second, she left him to the torments of his imagination. 

The periods of lucidness seemed to lengthen as the day turned into night. The only problem was that the vividness of the hallucinations seemed to grow. A terrible part of her wanted to lift the silencing charm and listen into the louder conversations that he was having with himself, but she forced herself not to. That was a Slytherin thing to do and, Merlin help her, she was going to be a Gryffindor about this. No eavesdropping when her patient was helpless.

“You idiot,” Hermione heard him whisper, passing a little too close to the bed on her way to the kitchen. “Stupid idiot boy. There’s no honor in this. Go home.”

~~~

Severus was floating. His body was strangely detached from his mind. Blinking, the cloth ceiling came into focus above him and almost immediately he crashed back into his body. Pain was everywhere. His head pounded as his pulse thundered throughout his body. He took in a breath to call out and it was like taking acid into his lungs. His mind threatened to make the image a reality, but he pushed back against the rising delirium.

“Miss Granger,” he managed to whisper, holding back the wince at his raw throat.

The girl was there in an instant. He wished he could have turned to look at her, but the thought made his head pound harder and his stomach rolled unpleasantly. She hovered over him, fingers twisting together. He thanked whatever power there was that the war was over. Stupid Gryffindors and the fact that their emotions were so clear on their faces. She would not have survived long under the Dark Lord’s reign if he had won. 

“What can I do?” she asked.

 _You can tell me what you really wanted when you took that trip into the past,_ Severus thought, glowering at her. The instinct to choke down the honest response held strong, even under the torture his mind and his magic were putting him through. He believed her, which was a shock for him. He still couldn’t figure out why.

“Water,” he managed again.

“Of course,” she said, hurrying and helping him sit again, bringing the glass to his mouth.

The liquid burned on its way down, his throat beyond sore and battered. He tried not to think of why. He only had the barest of recollections of what torments his mind had conjured for him to experience. Even if they had only been memories, they would have been enough. After she drew the glass away, he looked at her with narrowed eyes. If it had been one of his own, close, Slytherins he could have trusted them to respect his pride enough to maintain the silencing spells and his privacy. He grudgingly acknowledged that if it was a Slytherin he didn’t fully trust they would probably use it to their advantage and gather as much information as possible. 

He scowled. At least a Slytherin would be honest enough to admit that was what they were doing though if they were caught. Gryffindors. He barely hid his disgust. They would pry and spy and cloak it in their delusions of greater good. Or worse, that they were doing it for their _charge’s_ own good.

“Sir?” she asked. “Can you eat something?”

Severus had been silent too long. He nodded sharply, still pushing against the tide of hallucination that threatened to crash over him yet again. Survival. It was shocking how good he had become at it. Survive first. Plan. Worry about what would happen in the future later. If he made it through this, which he still had his doubts. His mind whirled as he watched Granger reappear with a mug. There had to be something else. There wasn’t much research on _Mors_ withdrawal. Those foolish enough to misuse it, normally misused it quickly and in large amounts, dying quickly after the potion had no life force to draw upon. Those that survived, normally used it in doses much more sparing than he had been using.

As Severus hefted his body into a more upright position, he muttered curses in Goblin under his breath. There had only been two instances in his life that he had been bedridden and dependent in his life. At the very least, he had put others in similar circumstances. All he had to show for this was his own stupidity. As he sipped at the broth that Granger helped him drink, he had to admit to a third time. Poppy had been most gracious the entire time, but the helplessness then didn’t begin to compare to now. Both then and now it was his own stupidity to blame, both times were a backlash to an uncalculated move.

“Enough?” Granger asked, her eyes calculating.

Snape nodded, waving her away dismissively as well as he could while he was still restrained. He barely managed to conceal the hiss of pain that the motion caused him. He waited until she had cleared the mug away to check. The skin underneath the cuff was red, rubbed raw, and sore. He let his head fall back to the pillows as his mind clouded over his vision once more.

“Lucius,” he nodded to the man as he entered his bedroom.

“Really put yourself in a bind this time, didn’t you my friend?” the blonde man asked, sitting on the bed. “You know how the Dark Lord is with traitors.”

Severus felt his stomach clench, but allowed no emotion to enter his face, “Is this why I’m restrained then? After everything that I’ve given, everything that I’ve sacrificed, he would suspect me?”

“Of course I tried defending you,” Lucius continued, “But my main defense fell through you see.”

“What defense?” Severus asked tensely. He was off balance. There was something important he needed to remember and he had completely forgotten it. It could be what he was talking about now. If only he could make himself remember.

“I told him you see. I told him how you killed Dumbledore for his glory. And yet…” Lucius trailed off, gesturing with a helpless shrug, “When Dumbledore showed up _alive_ , even after we saw him killed…”

“What?” Severus asked. “Dumbledore is dead. What do you mean he is alive? It must have been an imposter.”

“Agreed, yes I know my friend. And this is what I told him, of course!” Lucius said. “There are just some things that my Master needs to be absolutely…sure of.”

In a moment, Severus found himself suspended over a long table, surrounded by black robes and silver masks. Craning his neck back, he saw Voldemort advancing upon him, his face twisted in the parody of a smile, eyes dark. Already, Severus built up his mental shields, projecting loyalty, obedience, confusion, but he couldn’t feel it as he normally did. Something was wrong. Bracing himself as much as he could for pain, Voldemort raised his wand. 

~~~

Hermione flinched as she watched Snape’s body tense again to the point of almost a bow on the bed, trying not to imagine what agony he was suffering now. Setting aside her early cup of tea, Hermione walked over to the bedroom, rubbing cricks out of her neck from another short flirtation with sleep. Flicking her wand for diagnostics, she frowned. Every so often, a flash of color would light up around or on his head, normally followed by another in a different area. Finally able to compartmentalize after an almost sleepless night of checking on him in his lucid periods, she left him to go back to the healing text that she had been working with before. There had been something about color flashes.

Paging through diagnostic spells until she found the one she had just used, she scanned the page until the she found the relevant passage.

 _…during use, it is possible for flashes of color to be seen if the patient’s magic is in flux or in use. This is further explored by the use of the_ Chroma Apokalyptoun _spell, (See Section 5.26, pg 110)._

Hermione frantically flipped pages to the _Chroma Apokalyptoun_ spell. She scanned for the details she needed. It worked to reveal the patient’s magical stores and active magic. There were several jinxes and curses that manipulated a victim’s magical energies, misplacing them in different areas of the body. It helped healers to know where the energy had been manipulated. It also helped, in the case of a magical drain, in tracking the progress of the patient’s magical stores.

Quickly checking to see if any of the potions or spells she had used would react negatively with the new spell, Hermione practiced it twice before she felt confident enough to attempt it on Snape. As she moved back to the other room, she almost left again, losing her nerve. Setting the text to the side, open to the correct page, she watched the man on the bed carefully. Snape was talking quickly and rather loudly to someone she couldn’t see. 

Raising her wand, she used her left hand to make the complement gestures as she whispered, “, _Chroma Apokalyptoun_.”

Almost immediately, Hermione stepped back in shock. Looking from Snape to the book, she couldn’t believe it. Where everything was supposed to be lined up neatly, different colors along the spine aligning with the same chakra points that Muggles recognized, connected to different areas of the body, with different expansions down the arms and legs, and concentrated colors in the head, Snape was a mess. 

Where there should have been organization, there was chaos. Colors rolled and seethed around his head. Where his arms and hands should have had yellow-green and orange-red blends, there were only faint traces of green in his right arm. Instead of being concentrated along his spine, they were almost blended together. At the moment, yellow was flashing in his head, standing out from the brown mess as flashes went down to the appropriate chakra, traces raced down to his arm and fingers. The black that centered around where the dark mark scar still lingered, had black veins stretching out and up his arm. She was so caught up in watched the colors, that she almost didn’t notice how the flashes were dimming.

“Granger,” the derisive whisper called her from her frantic thinking.  
Blinking quickly, Hermione shook her head as if she was clearing it from a dream. His face came into focus for her, but the colors and her rapidly thinking mind kept her from being affected by his scowl. She bit her lip, still thinking as her eyes looked back to the text. It brought the glass of water into focus and she jumped.

“Sorry sir,” Hermione said, going for the glass of water. “Can I get you anything?”

“An explanation,” he said, sipping the water as she offered it. She couldn’t help but notice the tension around his eyes. The body pain was probably in full swing from the withdrawal, not to mention whatever he was feeling from the effects of his hallucinations.

“Sir?” she asked.

“Spit it out Granger,” he said, waving the water away. “You look like you’re on the edge of your seat again. I do not believe I have been dead long enough to forget the expression of desperation so reminiscent from being in class with you.”

His attempt at being insulting might have had more sway on her if she didn’t notice the roughness of the whispered tone. He could have saved his breath and throat by just asking instead of trying to layer an insult in his response. Hermione sighed.

“Have you heard of _Chroma Apokalyptoun_?” she asked.  
He lifted a condescending eyebrow and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if she should insinuate that he didn’t know something. She looked quickly over his body again. The colors seemed to have settled and weren’t flashing or moving at all. 

“Well…yours are not what the text shows as norms,” Hermione began.

“I’m sure you understand the basic understanding that each magical signature is unique, Miss Granger,” he said, before he coughed twice and winced slightly.

“I…,” Hermione grimaced, ignored him, and continued, “The stores along the spine are misaligned and faded. Most seems to be concentrated around your head. And every so often colors will start to flash, like now!”

Hermione gestured to the flashes of red and orange that seemed to be building.

“Granger,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “Leave. Now.”

“What?” she asked, backing up at the violence in his voice.

“NOW!” he yelled, though the only reason she knew what he said was his lips. 

Hermione stumbled back again, almost falling back. Shaking, she quickly turned and hurried down the steps, his outburst catching her completely off-guard. Turning back, she could see the red flashing in an almost brilliant and ruby color as Snape turned away from her, lips moving and his voice almost quiet enough to hear, before it dissolved into breathy gasps and short pants that she tried not to concentrate on. Watching him deep in another hallucination, she wanted to watch the colors effect, but she still wanted to not pry. Eventually, she decided that she needed to figure it out more than allow him privacy and she edged close enough to watch the colors play along his frame. Her mind whirled. Finally allowing herself to turn her back on him, she started to pace.

“It makes sense. Break it down,” she whispered, as she paced, talking to herself. “Two types of users. Addicts. They overused the potion too quickly, too often, withdrawal lasted too short for everything to really be studied. Others, light use, barely a light fever for withdrawal. Addicts that died, died from hallucination complications or from the seizures if they were restrained and didn’t hurt themselves while hallucinating.

“Okay. So now. Causes of the symptoms,” Hermione said, feeling like she was dancing around the point that she couldn’t quite grasp. “What did the potion do. Causes life force to be drained to fuel working magic. Eventually working magic is drained completely as a result as the body attempts to normalize. So once the potion is finished, working magic attempts to comeback, hence the fever. So the fever is a sign that magic is being raised. But then comes hallucinations.”

Hermione looked up to where Snape was still fluctuating in red and now orange before she whispered, “Why hallucinations? There has to be a reason.”

“Colors show the magic in flux, but that makes sense… rapid rise in magic… but…” Hermione kept getting the feeling that she was on the edge of a breakthrough if only she could make that last connection. “That’s it!! Hallucinations are the magic concentrated and moving in specific areas of the brain! It makes sense. Different placed magic, that’s the lights. Working magic as a whole wouldn’t be so differentiated, but this is the body attempting to move the magic it raised where it needs to go!”

Hermione was grinning so hard that she was resisting the urge to jump up and do something she hadn’t done since she had gone back to Hogwarts and gotten her NEWTs results, namely a rather embarrassing series of jumps and dances. Realizing that Snape’s hallucination color flashes had faded, she hurried up to share the news with him, bounding up the short stairs in one huge leap. He flinched, apparently lucid now. The glare he leveled at her was withering.

“Tell me you just leapt those stairs,” he said in a low dangerous voice.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, not noticing the infinitesimally small amount that Snape relaxed. “I think I figured out the real reason behind the hallucinations. They…are you alright?”

Snape was, if it was anyone else Hermione might have called it, fidgeting. 

“I believe there is now enough of a gap in between my mind’s cruel games enough for you to let me loose for a short enough period of time,” Snape said.

“I,” Hermione hesitated, “I suppose. What do you need?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly off to the side. Hermione’s eyes widened. 

“Oh. Right,” Hermione said, flicking her wand at the restraints.

“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze me, Miss Granger,” he said, snapping as much as his spelled voice would allow.

Hermione resisted the urge to glare, looking away as he snapped back the bedsheet. Instead of immediately going for the washroom like she thought he would, he stalked to the trunk, opened it, snatched a clean pair of trousers and then finally entered the washroom closing the door forcefully behind him. The rather obvious cause of why he had demanded freedom became clear.

 _Normal human functions Hermione, come on now,_ she thought. _Your mind is just rebelling against the idea of Snape the_ person _, not the_ spy _or the_ professor. She started slightly when she realized that she hadn’t thought Death Eater instinctively. Granted, she had only thought of him like that for a year, unlike Harry, and she never had such a strong association between the two. Even when Harry had told her, it was so difficult for her to accept. She was in denial even when logic told her that Snape had truly gone Dark.

“Granger,” the hissing whisper jarred her out of her musings. 

Hermione hurried to the door, saying, “Yes?”

“Lock the door. Seal it. Don’t let me out until you hear me call _your_ name, is that clear?” he said, his voice strained as he whispered.

Hermione didn’t hesitate, waving her wand, sealing the door shut. They had both miscalculated and neither of them knew what he would do while he was trapped in his own mind. In her mind, she calculated all of the dangerous objects in the room with him. She had no harmful substances, though she hoped he wouldn’t start drinking her conditioner or anything like it. Her razor was with her other shower things under the sink, but it was relatively safe. She knew he shaved. She had brought Muggle ones for him, but they were safe enough, she hoped. Nothing was immediately deadly enough…she hoped. 

The handle of the door tried to turn, making Hermione jump. Then it rattled. Then a bang shook the door on its hinges. Terrified that he could hurt himself, she transfigured the door into a one-way window, no longer caring about his privacy and only about his safety. He threw himself into the door hard enough that Hermione jumped back, even though she knew the door was as solid an obstacle as it had been seconds ago.

Hermione watched as Snape frantically tried to open the door once more, before he stepped back, curling in on himself and wrapping his arms around his middle. His eyes were wide, frantic, flitting around the whole room, the ceiling, the walls, the door. He backed up until his back hit the far wall. She winced because he didn’t. She had enough presence of mind to be thankful for the sturdy walls of her kitchenette and washroom as she watched him slide down the wall into a ball on the floor. Stepping forward, she placed her hands against the door as her heart constricted again. He looked like a lost child, his arms now wrapped around his knees. The only thing ruining the image of that for her was the rough stubble now coating his face. She hadn’t been about to help him with it, even if he had let her. His eyes darted around still before he flinched violently and ducked his head, his forehead pressed tightly against his knees as his body started to shake.

Trying to distance herself from the terror it was clear Snape was in, Hermione focused on the lights. Orange, red, and yellow raged around him, the occasional flash of green making its appearance as they flashed bright around his head before relocating around his body. It was beautiful, Hermione couldn’t help thinking, until Snape himself came back into focus. Every so often, his body would jump and flinch. His arms tightened around his legs and Hermione could see his knuckles turn white from the strain. 

She wished she could help. There wasn’t anything she could do though. If she went in during his hallucination, she might take the place of one of the phantoms tormenting him. There was no guarantee she couldn’t become something worse in his mind. Or worse, the hallucination would pass and suddenly Snape would know she had been watching. Either way, self-preservation kept her firmly on her side of the door, watching the lights for changes. 

Going to her pocket, Hermione checked the time. Wizards and magic were lovely, but Muggles were much more practical in their time-keeping devices. Snape hadn’t moved in over five minutes, aside from the occasional flinch. Well into the ninth minute, Hermione finally started to see the flashes fade. As she watched, the tension slowly leeched out of Snape’s body. Suddenly all of the colors began rapidly disappearing and Hermione almost panicked, before she realized that it was simply the spell timing out. 

Gasping, she quickly whispered, “ _Finite incantem_.”

It wouldn’t do for Snape to know she had been watching at the door. Eventually, she heard movement, then running water and splashing at the sink. Finally, he knocked.

“Miss Granger, if you would?” he asked.

“ _Alohomara_ ,” Hermione whispered, opening the door.

“Such a simple way to undo the lock, Miss Granger?” Snape asked, standing tall at the other side of the door, once again his scowl firmly in place. “It was very good for you that my magic has not returned.”

Hermione didn’t comment, barely keeping herself from glaring. It was still easy to be angry at the man before her. He had changed his trousers, but hadn’t tucked in the white collared shirt, which was now rolled to his elbows. The hair around his face was slightly damp, but it was hard to tell with his still greasy looking hair, but if she had money to bet she would have guessed he had splashed water on his face.

“Something you like Miss Granger? Or were you going to let me pass?” he drawled easily in his still lowered whisper.

Flushing and sputtering, Hermione had to step back as he brushed past her. He ignored the sheet this time, sitting atop it and working on reattaching the ankle restraints himself without waiting for her magical assistance. It seemed more difficult for him, Hermione saw, with slight tremors in his hands. She didn’t let that stop her. Furious, she flicked her wrist, tightening them herself, almost catching one of his fingers in the process.

“Sorry sir,” she bit out, almost remorseful. He was certainly doing well at keeping up appearances at being a right bastard.

He muttered something she couldn’t hear, before laying back and allowing her to refasten his wrist restraints.

“Pardon?” she asked, not really thinking he would repeat it.

“The bookworm has bite now,” he said, sarcasm almost masking what seemed like strange approval.

“War does that,” she said quietly, crossing her arms so her thumb could rub against the scars scrawled into her arm.

“It does indeed,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “You were saying something about _Chroma Apokalyptoun_?”

“Right,” Hermione said. “Well. I think that the hallucinations make sense with the withdrawal. The fever raises magic, but it’s raised mostly in the head area for some reason and isn’t in the right place, so… I’m assuming that the hallucinations are caused by magic moving from the head area to the place where it is normally stored. The text didn’t list this as something that happens, so I’m assuming that it only happens because of this unique withdrawal.”

“There are quite a few assumptions there,” he whispered, but he opened his eyes, looking thoughtfully to the side, “But it would seem to fit. Have there been specific colors you noted?”

“Yes, and they seem to be trying to align the correct way,” Hermione said, shifting her weight to one foot.

“Oh sit down,” he said, nodding to the foot of the bed, moving a shackled ankle out of the way. “The fidgeting is making me nervous.”

“Master spy? Nervous?” she asked sarcastically, before she bit her lip. She was definitely shorter than normal. She had no idea where that had come from and immediately regretted it. The only thing she could possibly contribute her uncharacteristic ability to bite back her comments was the weariness that was starting to really eat at her head and eyes, the euphoria of intellectual discovery now quite dim.

“I would have said irritated,” Snape said, “But I was trying to be cordial.”

“How long since the hallucinations began?” he asked, interrupting whatever she had been about to say.

Professionalism temporarily brushed away irritation as she checked her watch again. 

“Going into the thirtieth hour now,” Hermione said, replacing it in her pocket.

“So at any moment I could begin a seizure that will end this whole mad ordeal,” he said heaving a sigh. “Wonderful.”

“Were there any warning signs?” Hermione asked. “The text said that the seizures were swift and unpredictable at the end.”

Snape closed his eyes again, before he said, “Never a survivable case after 48 hours. That I know. I trust you will at least end my life swiftly at that hour?”

“What?” Hermione gaped, “I couldn-”

“No,” his dark eyes snapped open and found hers. “You will. You have no choice. I will not continue my life a brain damaged imbecile that needs to be fed through a tube at best or suffer an extended death full of painful seizures at worst is that understood.”

His tone left no room for argument and even though she wasn’t sure if she could actually take his life if the time came, she nodded anyway. Relief sagged his body to the bed, the body tremors becoming visible for a brief moment before they disappeared.

“Go,” he said flicking his fingers. “I’m sure there’s somewhere else you could be.”

Hermione nodded and returned to the sitting room with the textbook that had still been propped on the side table. There was a lot to digest. Over the next hour, Snape only suffered a short and quiet hallucination that consisted mainly of talking to himself. From what she briefly overheard on the way to the kitchen, he was having a conversation about potion ingredients. She recast the color reveal spell to track them. A bang made her jump and run for the bedroom though. 

Bolting for the bed, Hermione saw the colors lighting up his head again as he thrashed, almost fevered against his pillow. A look of pain was raw in his face, but he didn’t utter a sound. Hermione frowned. Something was different. Though the colors were flashing again, something was off. With a start she realized it. The flashes had been a pattern before, flash in head, followed by the pulse of it moving elsewhere. It didn’t move. It pulsed and flickered in and around his head, but the strong yellow color didn’t move. Eventually the flashing stopped, but the pained look on Snape’s face took longer to fade.

“Sir?” Hermione whispered.

“Still here and present, Miss Granger,” he said, eyes still closed. “Though now perhaps with a stronger headache than before.”

“What do you know about manipulating someone else’s magic?” Hermione asked, her gut making the connection before her brain fully caught up.

That made him open his eyes, though perhaps hooded and strained as he squinted up at her.

“That normally falls under the darker of magics, Miss Granger, did you have someone’s in mind?” he asked, barely veiled suspicion in his mind.

“If I’m correct, you’re closer to seizures than I thought,” she said, eyes flicking over the colors lighting his frame. “And this is following my original guess. So the hallucinations show the raised magic going to the right part of the body. Seizures happen when that process stops?”

“Was that a question hidden there?” he asked.

Hermione thought, her mind whirling. It sounded right. Magic, concentrated magic, too much of it, around the head? There was a chance that the pressure of it could lead to seizures. There was probably a magical or scientific explanation for it, but it aligned in her head.

“To heal manipulations by dark magic,” she said, finally. 

Hermione looked up to see the bored look on Snape’s face as he looked at her and then carefully raised an eyebrow. Realizing that she had jumped around too much, she backtracked.

“If the seizures are caused by the misplaced magic, raised and concentrated in the head, then it stands to reason if the magic is moved to where it needs to be, there won’t be seizures. So are there any ways to manipulate magic for healing?” she asked.

Snape frowned, concentrating, before he finally said, “There are some wandless varieties, yes…but only if there is no resistance to the manipulation from the patient. Dark spells plow through any resistance, both natural and magical to do manipulations if the user is strong enough. Healers normally have no resistance because the patient allows the healer’s manipulation. There are rare cases where non-healers can manipulate another’s magic. It might be possible…”

His eyes suddenly seemed glassy and unfocused and Hermione’s hands went numb, her wand dropping through to clatter on the floor as the lights hovering in and around his head decided to light up at once. She yelped as his throat began convulsing, his body unnaturally drawing so straight his back lifted from the bed. Hermione had been wrong. Snape had been _much_ closer to a seizure than she had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to get going, and then a hard chapter to stop writing. I'm really, really sorry to end it here, but I felt I needed to show progress to any who started reading this story years ago. The whole thing is outlined, it WILL be finished. I swear by my shipper heart. :)


	12. Chapter 12: The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry. Family drama has had my muse on the verge of death for months. She seems to be recovering though, and family is temporarily stable.

_"Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily -- weak people, in other words -- they stand no chance against his powers!" - Severus Snape_

For half a second, Hermione was frozen, panicked with fear. The strong pulsing of colors was the only thing she could see. They shouldn’t be there. She knew where all off the color array was supposed to go, but how did she move it? Her nails bit into her palms before she just reached out, calling to her magic like she did when she worked with wandless spells and went for the red colors she saw first. Instinct was her guide now, as much as she hated relying on it. She willed the red to stick to her hands and pulled. 

Miraculously the color followed her hands as she dragged it from the pile, throwing it in the direction of Snape’s root chakra. It snapped into place, flaring for a moment before settling, as Snape still thrashed. Not thinking anymore, Hermione made a grab for the next color she could see visible which was yellow, yanking it down his body until it settled around his navel. Going for green next, she grabbed at it, her hands disappearing in a mass of lights as they clung to her fingers and pulled. With the burst of green flowing from his head, as she shook the magic off near his heart, his body fell limp.

Hermione ignored it, concentrating and holding on to the feeling she was riding, desperate to not stop just in case she couldn’t begin again if she tried. Her hands passed around and over his head, parting the colors like water, heedless of the sweat beginning to roll down her forehead from the strain she could feel in her bones. Touching the magic was making her hands go cold and white, but she refused to stop. The colors had faded to normal, no longer a brilliant, almost-white. It made it easier to sort through them. Orange she “grabbed” and pulled free, followed by blue. The swirling purple-white colors were settling themselves around his head.

Stepping back, Hermione almost fell. Blinking, she winced as a drop of sweat stung into her right eye. Reaching up, she meant to wipe at it before the shaking in her legs became too much. She felt them collapse seconds before she blacked out.

Hermione came to, looking up at the ceiling. She felt weak, like she had run miles or been wrung out to dry. She turned her head to the side, realizing the she had collapsed with her head on her arm and now it was completely numb. Lifting her head with great effort, she looked at the bed. No colors, which meant that the spell had timed out. She had been unconscious for at least ten minutes then. Or worse, she realized. What if? Panicked adrenaline brought her to her knees, leaning heavily on the bed to get herself up.

Snape’s chest lifted and fell normally. He was alive then. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, allowing her head to collapse to the bed in exhaustion, happy that it was low enough for her to just let herself collapse over. Her deadened arm was painfully coming back to life, but she was still so exhausted that she let her eyes close. Just for a minute… she thought. One minute only.

The next time that Hermione came to consciousness, she was conscious only of her cheek hurting. She shifted and then froze. Quietly and with her eyes still closed, she realized that she was sitting up, half-collapsed onto a soft surface that she remembered being the bed. Shifting her cheek, she realized that she must have moved in her sleep because her cheek rested on one of the cords being used to currently anchor her patient to the bed. In her growing sense of horror, she realized that she must have adjusted in her sleep and flung her arm upwards and under her forehead, leaving it to rest against the warmth of someone’s leg. Snape’s leg. 

Trying desperately not to move and wake him was proving almost as obvious as her moving away quickly. Hermione finally decided that there were more pressing needs at the moment, before she deliberately took in a deep breath and sighed, stretching her arms back and away quickly, feigning waking-up. As she was rubbing her eyes and cheek, she looked up and realized she shouldn’t have bothered. Snape seemed to be still very much asleep. At first glance anyway.

Pushing herself, back and up to her knees seemed easy at first, but made her sway forward and catch herself on the bed. A sharp hiss made her look up and see the tension that creased Snape’s face. Frowning, Hermione reached for her wand.

“Don’t,” Snape said, his voice clenched and tight.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, freezing with her wand in hand, her own discomfort paling in front of his now obvious pain.

“Pain,” he said only. “Go.”

“On a scale from zero of a scratched knee to a ten of being under the Cruciatus for twenty-four hours straight how would you-” Hermoine began.

“Eight,” he managed to hiss. “Go.”

Hermione thought to stay but eventually swallowed her next protests and pushed off from the floor to her feet, swaying only a bit this time now that she was prepared. Figuring she could do any diagnostics from a somewhat safe distance away, she stumbled back, her legs almost giving out again. She couldn’t remember a time when she was this exhausted. Shakily, she managed to get down the stairs without falling on her face, for which she was immensely grateful. Making it to the kitchen chair that she sank into with relief was a miracle. Letting her elbows support her on the table, she propped her head in her hands with a sigh. A few more minutes and she’d make herself something to eat. Just a few.

Severus came to consciousness gradually before the shock of pain caused him to come awake all at once. His body had been dipped in acid and then beaten he decided, it was the only explanation for the amount of pain he was in. Each breath he drew in stabbed knives into his throat and lungs. The sheet atop him was an oppressive weight that scrapped across his skin. His wrists and ankles were on fire. His forearms were constricted and aching from where he had pushed up his rolled shirtsleeves. Even his hair seemed to be laced with pain and he didn’t know whether to be grateful or not that he hadn’t shaved in days. 

The shifting movement along his side made him tense, which almost caught itself in a moan out of his lips if he hadn’t stifled it halfway up his throat. Severus started to look, but closed his eyes again immediately at the lace of pain the light cut through into his brain. He had had a seizure before, thankfully only once, and Poppy had pronounced him likely to never have another. It had been minor, she had said, and thankfully happened in her care. The skull-splitting headache that had followed had been worse for him than the seizure itself. But his considerable life experience was the only thing that didn’t have him currently screaming in agony now.

Severus felt the girl beside him shift and her weight lifted from his side. If it was possible, more pain laced through the part of him she had been touching at the loss. Abruptly he shifted as the bed moved under her hands and he couldn’t prevent a hiss of pain from escaping his lips. Desperately, he tried not to move. He could practically see her above him, probably about to fuss and worry, waving her wand about for a way to fix it.

“Don’t,” he managed to choke out. All he wanted was to be left alone in the pain until he could handle it, control it. “Go.”

“What is it?” she asked.

_Stupid, moronic, idiot, brain of a child,_ he thought, beginning a further litany of curses in his mind. _I’m in enough pain to drive lesser men mad, leave me be._

“Pain,” he said managed to say. _Go away._ “Go.”

“On a scale from zero of a scratched knee to a ten of being under the Cruciatus for twenty-four hours straight how would you-” she said.

“Eight,” he managed to hiss, the fury rising helping to combat the pain. “Go.”

Severus turned inward. He began by cataloguing. Normally, it helped to be able to find some part of himself not in pain to focus on. This was worse than anything he had felt before. The only things he could find were his fingernails. By extension, his fingers also were not in pain, but they were heavy and tired like the rest of him. 

He focused on breathing next. It was still agony, but more tolerable than thinking of anything else. Just practicing breathing helped. Severus swallowed and grimaced. That was a mistake. Parting his lips slightly to breathe out of them, he let his mouth dry out slightly to hopefully not have to do that again. Swallowing was definitely worse than breathing. When he realized that his techniques weren’t working, he tried something else. He started thinking.

First, it was a list of ingredients and steps on the most basic of potions. It was a simple and mind-numbing process. He was half-way through his first-year curriculum when he realized that it wasn’t working and pain kept interrupting. He needed more. Seventh-year advanced potions was enough to help distance himself sufficiently for a short enough period of time. Not enough. Finally he decided to turn his mind to an even more engaging line of thought. Something he had been avoiding and, if he was honest with himself, having anxiety about. It was something he had never had to consider for over twenty years. What was he going to do with his life, now that he had one?

Hermione was trying to keep busy. In reality, all she wanted to do was sleep, now that Snape’s life was no longer on the verge of ending. From a safe distance away, she had tried to cast another Chroma Apokalyptoun to see how well he was doing. She’d made it through half the motions before she realized that she wouldn’t be able to cast it. She was fairly certain she couldn’t even cast a Wingardium right now if her life depended on it. Which it hopefully wouldn’t. 

She was drained, physically, emotionally, and now magically. After leveraging herself out of her chair, she had put a kettle on and tried to start stacking her books and notes again. She had given up though shortly after and just decided to clean the kitchen instead. After a few minutes, and her tea now steeping in a mug, she had given up, her arms starting to shake. Cradling her mug of tea now, it was taking all her will not to fall asleep on the kitchen table.

What had happened? What had gone wrong? In reality though, Hermione though, she should have been asking what had gone right. She understood the concept of what she had done. She was also fully conscious of how incredibly dangerous it had been. In manipulating his magic, she had interacted with it on a basic magical level. When she was younger, she had been confused reading that at first and had sought out Professor McGonagall.

“Basic sounds like it should be easier Professor, why would we create all these spells when as witches we could interact directly using magic?” the first year Hermione had asked.

The Transfigurations professor had been surprised at the question to say the least, mainly at the nature of the question and where Hermione had been reading about it. She had been patient and thorough in her reply. 

“This is a theory we will normally discuss further into third or fourth year,” the older woman had begun. “Many young witches and wizards normally do not bring up the topic on their own, either because they ask their parents or because the memory of the ease of wandless, childish magic fades so quickly that many forget how they ever did it. 

“Basic workings tap into the raw flow of magic. Because there are no boundaries of a spell to limit how much magic is channeled, or a wand which can funnel and concentrate the raw magic, a witch can tap into her unlimited potential power.”

“Wouldn’t that make the spells better or stronger?” she had asked.

“Yes. For a time,” Professor McGonagall had said. “But if it was a powerful spell, with unlimited potential power and nothing telling it to stop? There’s the danger. An untrained witch could, when trying to create a blast of light, light a room with a blast powerful enough to blind. She could also, with that same spell, drain her magic so desperately that she can never truly recover. She could lose her magic’s full potential at best, when it returned, or die at worst. Our magic is as much a part of us as our blood. We can drain it to exhaustion. But we can also drain it, through to and including ourselves, our very lives. Spells are constructed with a beginning, a draw, and an end or final outcome. They protect against the danger.” 

Hermione shuddered as she remembered. The thought of draining the life out of her through her magic had terrified her. Even the assurances from books that she had then read that said the danger shrank with age and the development of her magic, she had been cautious and even more determined to do everything correctly the first time. 

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, cradling her tea, stooping for the occasional sip. The warm liquid helped to bring life back to her aching bones and muscles. She had never been so conscious of the feeling of her magic before then as she felt it in her, returning. Standing, her legs no longer shaking, she decided that food would be best. If Snape couldn’t eat, she at least should. Stopping, she bit her lip, looking in the direction of where he was now. She should check on him. She didn’t know why she was delaying.

Afraid Miss Granger? She could practically hear the drawl in her mind. That decided it. Setting up the stovetop with a pot of soup warming, she walked back into the bedroom.

Hermione found Snape in almost the exact position that she had left him. Palming her wand, she wasn’t sure if she should attempt another spell. She had certainly given herself time to recover. She did it silently. The wand movements were something she had practiced so often and well that she was able to force it through without saying the words. Shuddering, it was hard not to gasp. 

The spell was a simple one, meant to gauge the pain levels of a patient whether or not they were conscious. Greens and blues were essentially base levels for the patient. Yellows were mild discomfort, oranges moderate, reds grew severe. When they were bright white, they neared levels where patients passed out.

Snape was lit up like a Christmas tree. Red was blinding and everywhere, white would occasionally flare up but faded quickly. She couldn’t tell if it was because the pain actually lessened or if he suppressed it somehow. Hermione’s face constricted with pain, but she didn’t let out a sound. As silently as she could, she climbed the steps and drew close to the bed. 

“What can I do?” she whispered.

Hermione watched him flinch at her voice. If his hearing was even that sensitive, what must everything else be like? Sentences must have been hard. She adjusted her strategy.

“Would making you sleep help?” she asked finally.

He grunted and she saw the reaction flicker down him, from the spasm between his eyes, the deepening of the lines around is mouth, and the tension that shot through all of his muscles. That wasn’t mentioning the sharp red spikes of color. The grunt seemed to indicate a negative.

“Something I could give you for the pain?” she asked.

There was a longer pause this time before the same echoed grunt. 

“How about a distraction? I could read out loud?” she asked.

The pause was longer this time. She watched the flares raise and lower. Abruptly, he nodded, a small and sharp movement that was followed by a hiss. Hermione nodded, even though he couldn’t see, and descended once more into the living area. Moving to her stash of books, she scanned them. Healing texts, a peer-reviewed book of arithmantical theory, her books on time travel, and a few others. She needed something he hadn’t read previously. He had been pouring over the healing texts in order to critique her notes, so they wouldn’t do. Arithmancy would be interesting, but he would doubtlessly feel the need to comment or critique it while she was reading. There they had something in common. She would go mad if theories were discussed in front of her and she wasn’t allowed to ask questions or offer insight. 

That left her other fun collection, including Snape’s two biographies, she shuddered to think, or her books on time travel. Nice, new, mind-numbing material. Hermione snatched up To Touch Time: Well-Known Travelers and Their Adventures and returned to the stool that she had sat vigil on before and opened the book and began to read.

At first, Hermione had been nervous. She hadn’t been sure of how her selection would go over with her patient. She was fairly certain that he had been exasperated with her choice from what little noise and facial expressions he let slip through. As she plowed forward though, losing herself in the words on the page, every time she would look up, he seemed pensive or relaxed, not as in pain as the color flashings would have her believe. Eventually, when she looked up, they had muted to a duller orange-red.

“Sir?” she whispered, pausing in her reading.

Without an answer or movement, Hermione slowly stood. Not wanting to disturb him, she just looked. He was still restrained, how she could have missed it before, she didn’t know. Seeing him just sleeping now though, she couldn’t bring herself to remove them. With the brief glance she had seen after the incident in the washroom, she knew that his skin was rubbed raw underneath the restraints. Removing them might hurt more than heal in his raw state now, and it would certainly wake him up. 

Sighing quietly, Hermione stood and stretched. She didn’t bother wondering the time. If he was sleeping, it seemed a good time for her to rest a bit too. She was still exhausted and her magic hadn’t fully returned. The best thing for both of them would be her sleeping for now as well. Leaving the book on her stool she cast a triggering spell to alert her if he woke before she retreated back to her makeshift bed. Curling up around a pillow, she closed her eyes. She was asleep seconds later.

It seemed only minutes later that her wand buzzed in her lap. Hermione pinched the correct spot to turn off the alarm as she yawned sleepily. Sniffing then, she yelped and leapt up the stairs to the kitchen. 

“Idiot,” she hissed at herself as she vanished the soup that had been burned in the kitchen. 

The fact that she’d forgotten it surely spoke to her mental state. She was exhausted, still, even after the short nap, but her carelessness was beyond. The amount of food would last for at least another month and a half, especially with how perilously little her companion had been eating. Hermione sighed, before putting more soup in the now clean pot and loading two rolls into the oven to be heated. Hopefully the bread cooking would help to get rid of the smell of burnt tomato basil.

“Always determined to be the death of me,” was the whispered greeting she received when she entered.

Hermione rolled her eyes, safe from the formidable glare of legend because it seemed that Snape was still not opening his eyes. She cast the pain levels spell without replying, relieved that the flashes of white had all but disappeared and orange was attempting to make a more prominent appearance.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?” Hermione asked instead, pointedly ignoring the barb.

“No,” he said, wincing as he seemed to be trying to adjust himself under the sheet before he froze.

Hermione watched as his muscles slowly and deliberately relaxed, oranges slowly coming back up as the reds faded back down. She thought for a moment to ask whether or not he was doing it deliberately, but then thought better of it. She never her next question would be how he did it, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted the answer to that.

“What then?” she asked. “Could I get you something to eat?”

“No,” he said again, this time the shift was more deliberate. Hermione started forward to help when she realized, but the withering glare that was sent her way made her sit back firmly on her stool. 

“Cleaning spells can only go so far,” he muttered, flinching and freezing once more as he sat himself fully upright. With another barely suppressed flinch and two deliberate movements, he freed his sleeves so they once again reached his hands. “A shower is very much in order.”

Short and clipped, with no hint of a derogatory remark, Hermione couldn’t tell if that meant he felt better or worse with that response. Standing, she stepped back and gave him ample room to place his feet on the floor on his own, but still being only a short pace away, just in case he faltered. Grateful that he still couldn’t see the pain indication spell, she watched the flares as he tested standing. She carefully turned away and tried not to see how tension radiated from him as he tried not to limp his first step. Stopping, he closed his eyes for a breath, swaying, before he inhaled again and confidently walked towards the shower. 

Hermione winced for him as she watched. There was always something vulnerable in watching someone who needed help and wouldn’t accept it. He had lost more weight that he shouldn’t have in the days were he ate little or not at all. The way his trousers hung lower on his hips and how the shirt cascaded loosely down his arms and slightly off his shoulders. Or how his inability to button his cuffs let the shirtsleeves waving loose over his hands. All of that she might have been able to take if not for the bare feet. There was something about the combination of it all that made Snape seem…not young, the stubble on his face attested to that, certainly not weak, but at the very least human.

Their earlier rhythm returned eventually. The words they exchanged were brief and purposeful, but it surprised how little Hermione did need to speak at all. He would wordlessly make it known that he was making food and simply indicate with a raised eyebrow if she would like some and wait for her nod. She never had to ask for help in cleaning, he would simply appear either to help, or when she was nearly done, leave her to it.

It helped that Snape found himself still too weak to put on the show of being strong. He had made it to the kitchen for meals, eating what she provided, but he still would return to the bedroom more often than not to sleep. The excessive sleeping made her worry, but after casting her pain detector spell very carefully from behind a book one of the afternoons, she watched. Anytime the muting oranges started spiking into reds he would excuse himself. Other than that, they would spend time working on their own separate works while sitting in their living room, though what he was working on she didn't know and wouldn't risk her own livelihood to guess or ask, her curiosity hadn't reached intolerable levels yet.

“Do you think that you feel well enough for us to change camp?” Hermione asked finally, breaking the silence.

Snape looked up from the parchment he was writing on before he set the quill down rather deliberately before he asked, “And what, pray tell, made you think I was unwell?”

Hermione skipped over stating the obvious and instead continued with the purpose of the discussion.

“I chose this location because this was one of the few where I knew our presence would go undetected, but I’m not sure the presence of Notice-Me-Not spells or a tap into the lake will eventually raise up a flag. It would make me more comfortable to move, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, disinterested.

“Where else had you considered?” Snape asked, sitting back and pressing the tips of his fingers together as he rested them against his lips.

Hermione closed her eyes, rubbing a circle into her left temple as she thought and recalled her previous research, “At first I thought to locate one of the safehouses the Order of the Phoenix had used during the war, mainly because some of the wards were permanent. It would just be easier. Unfortunately, most were used directly after the war for fugitives, temporary hospitals, or some functioned as temporary holds for combatants pending their trials before they were moved to Azkaban or somewhere else. Nowhere was open consistently, and if it was…the records weren’t clear enough to make me comfortable to trust our safety to them. Too much slipped through the cracks, it was how some Death Eaters escaped.”

Snape simply nodded, before cocking his head slightly to the side, “Not some other country? Perhaps an abandoned factory or wilderness?”

Hermione sighed as she replied, “I thought of almost all of it, but…we’re in the past. My past, others’ past. Enough bad things happen to those who mess with time. I didn’t want to become a statistic. Besides, who knows what we could ruin if we ran across others. Even an abandoned factory has the occasional visitor. Maybe someone was supposed to be killed there, what if someone saves them. Another country had all of its own risks. At least here I have the basic idea of what’s supposed to happen when. Anyway, this turned out to be the safest bet.”

“Shall we move now then? You have a secondary location in mind?” he asked.

Hermione frowned, she had been secretly expecting more of a fight, or…something. But she did have somewhere else in mind. When she nodded, he stood, and Hermione drew her wand, putting the rest of the food into stasis. For whatever reason, or whatever the mechanics were of wizard tent making, food and bodies did not do well in them when they were packed up, though tables and book shelves and lamps seemed to not be an issue. After the things that they had been working with were tidied up enough, they went outside. 

Stepping apart from him, Hermione took a breath to simply breath and impulsively raised her arms over her head and stretched. It might not have been logical, because there was enough space to stand on her own shoulders in the living area of the tent, but there seemed like there was more space here. There was a taste of summer now, even though spring had been wet and long this May. She remembered that much. This day was a strange break though; the sun was actually warming on her face.

Looking back, Hermione carefully avoided Snape’s gaze from where he stood behind her. It did take an actual effort not to acknowledge him though. She went through the motions, collapsing the tent with a flick of her wand. The wards flickered for a moment making her whirl in alarm. 

“Tolerable,” was Snape’s only response to her face when she saw him pocketing his wand.

Hermione only grimaced before she began dismantling the wards, dismissing the layers of spells that she had been reinforcing in between hallucinations and caring for the pair of them. She was grateful that they were slightly easier to unravel then to erect, she was still a bit raw from her experience a few days ago just after Snape’s seizure. Finished, she extended her hand towards him. He looked down at it in distain.

“I beg your pardon Miss Granger, was there something you needed?” Snape asked.

“I just,” Hermione started before she dropped her arm, feeling rather stupid with it out extended in the air. “I figured it would be simpler for you to Side-Along Apparate?”

“I am perfectly capable of following your signature Miss Granger, I did actually participate in teaching during my tenor at Hogwarts, and Apparation signatures are a bit of a specialty of mine,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn and condescension.

“Fine,” Hermione said, accioing the tent bundle to her arms with a flick of her wand and a narrow-eyed glare at Snape, Apparated.

When she appeared on the rock face, Hermione was immediately hit with a wave of guilt and dread that followed her impulsiveness. If he lost her trail would he stay in the same place so that she could… Her fears dissolved a moment later when Snape Apparated almost on top of her, making her stumble back quickly. She needn’t have bothered, as he jumped back just as immediately and further than she. Hermione was flushed, but the nursing tendencies that she had been developing didn’t miss the flinch and wince as Snape stumbled over a piece of rock in his haste and had to right himself. 

Pretending to ignore it, Hermione worked instead at once again, resetting the wards as quickly as she could. She threw all of her energy into it, and concentration, so that once she was finished pacing the edge of her camp, she was surprised to see Snape had already entered the tent he had erected when she was distracted. It was a relief to see. It meant at least more of his magic was settled then before. The other day, before he had retired for the evening she had caught him testing his magic. She had carefully ignored it as much as she ignored any effort he made now. Giving the wards one more test, she ducked inside and followed him into the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, filler more than anything. Things are picking up though soon, because they'll be ripping time in the next chapter and finding a rather... interesting living arrangement in the future.


	13. Til All of Time Stood Still

_"Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. They are potent forms of enchantment, rich with the power to hurt or heal." - Albus Dumbledore_

As June started, Hermione could barely take the boredom any longer. Almost every book she had read through twice, notated, and cross referenced, with of course the exception being the two biographies that she still hadn’t opened. She found herself sneering mentally at herself as she realized that the laughable explanation she had given had in fact been true. She was afraid of stacks of bound paper, for whatever reason that was, her rational brain couldn’t fathom. They continued to sit where she had left them, in the dark corner of a pocket of her traveling cloak where neither she nor Snape could see them.

Pacing the kitchen, Hermione was trying not to scream. If this was cabin fever, she was surprised others hadn’t died from it. She was trying desperately not to get angry at the man sitting calmly in the living room, but it was difficult. Her brain was screaming. Angrily, she slapped the kettle onto the burner. She was just restless.

As she set out a mug and tea bag, Hermione knew why she felt like this. Her body had been running on adrenaline and rehearsed nursing techniques. Her brain had been running a marathon. She worked well when the stakes were high. The stagnation now was going to kill her. As she fiddled her fingers, Hermione paused. Looking down at her hands, she realized what her hands had been doing. Leaning back against the counter, she drew the chain out from under her shirt. 

The chain had been a precaution, though she still wore her engagement ring there now. She had been almost reluctant to put it on again, even after the Polyjuice pretense had been discarded. She faced it every time she washed or every time she changed, but she still couldn’t do it. It was stupid, she knew. Why she was fiddling with an invisible ring was beyond her. Sighing, she reached up to unclasp the chain when the kettle whistled and she dropped it back in place with something that felt too close to relief for her comfort. Thinking about her ring would have started her thinking about Ron and...she really couldn't right now.

Crossing the room, her mug of tea cradled in her hands, Hermione went to the low coffee table where she had several papers spread out and a few books. Sitting on the cushion she had dropped there, she spent a few moments just breathing in the warm steam from her cup, looking over to where Snape had papers balanced on the now read through potions magazines that she had brought for them both. The feeling of restlessness faded slightly, but barely as she took her first sip. She could barely hold in the questions as her eyes flicked over his papers. She’d barely held her questions back the past few days and he had volunteered nothing. He made another notation with the pencil in his hand which seemed to strangely irritate her in the snit she found herself in.

Just when she had worked up the courage to breach the unspoken oath of silence, Snape spoke.

“Ask what you will Miss Granger. Entertaining though it is to watch the struggle I prayed to never see again, it is beginning to try my patience,” he said, making another mark on the page without looking up, looking as if he didn’t care one way or the other. Which he probably didn’t.

Hermione snapped her mouth closed before she sighed and ventured forward anyway. 

“What are you writing?” she asked finally.

Snape looked up and raised a condescending eyebrow before his eyes flicked over the papers in front of her then back to his own, “I would presume to say something similar to what you are working on yourself.”

Hermione skimmed through the notes in front of her. Some were from her chronicling her adventures in the Room of Requirement, and then in the boat house, stabilizing him as best as she could remember. Most though were from the last few weeks, concerning his withdrawal symptoms. She’d been trying to understand what had actually happened, especially at the last day.

“I have been trying to understand what happened at the end. The withdrawal itself was an ugly thing, but the overall process wasn’t terrible,” Hermione said, shuffling through things, trying to get her latest idea underneath the pile so he hopefully wouldn’t see and make fun of the absurd idea.

A snapping sound made her look up. Snape’s face was so carefully controlled, but the tension made him look almost brittle, especially around his neck and eyes. Her eyes flicked his hands and the now snapped pencil which made her flinch. 

“The process,” he said, finally speaking. When his eyes opened, they were flashing with black fire. “Is that what you call it? Deciding to save my life? My life when there were countless other innocents to choose from? A Death Eater. A murderer. A torturer of children. A monster. Not one of your friends, or one of the countless children trying to flee the castle when evil was brought down on them or one of those foolish enough to stay and fight. Did you really give much thought to this process before you began Miss Granger? Charging in like the typical Gryffindor. I thought a know-it-all would have given it more thought. Truly I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”

Abruptly he stood, his work practically flung into the seat he vacated as his voice dropped back low from where it had been gradually rising in volume.

“I cannot understand this asinine thing you have done any more than who or why you’ve done it for,” he hissed. “And you will not do the decent thing and say why. Why…did you..save me.”

The tension and radiating anger made the air around her hum. She hadn’t really been witness to any of Snape’s true fit of temper, but she was playing on the edge of it, she knew that. She wished she had some condolence to offer, some explanation that would help him to understand why when she didn’t herself.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, staring up at him, eyes wide, wishing she could say more or know how to help him back off of the cliff that he had charged down with his words. She saw something pass in his face as if she saw something break, even if she had no idea what it was.

Snape made a harsh tch noise before charging out of the tent, smacking it aside as he passed out. Hermione jumped up to follow him before she stopped herself. It wouldn’t do any good to follow him, hard earned experience and Ginny had taught her that. Bringing shaking hands up to her face, she sighed, easing herself back down, putting her head in her hands. She had no idea how to fix this. She wished that she did. Looking at the paper before her, an idea began to form. She had no idea if it would be a good thing, but it was something.

Sitting back, maybe an hour, maybe ten minutes, later, Hermione looked over her list. It wasn’t bad. She let her mind drift slightly to the days and weeks after the second, and final, fall of Voldemort. There had been absolute chaos. Everyone was still sorting bodies, healing survivors, rebuilding, and so much more. She remembered being in shock for most of it, going through the motions. Even the celebrations and parties that followed hadn’t felt real when many were still in deep mourning. 

When the smoke had cleared, there had been ceremonies. Everyone had been given the pomp and circumstance from the Ministry, but to Hermione it had felt shallow. They had been fighting the Ministry almost as often as the Death Eaters. It was the silent regrouping of the Order of the Phoenix that had struck her. It had strangely been Neville’s idea, though she only found out later after Minerva had presented it. 

They gathered as they normally would have in sixth year, but with black ribbons decorating certain spaces. One tied around Albus’s chair, another around Moody’s. One hung on the wall where Remus would be normally leaning, and others. The worst had been George, who had been insistent on where Fred’s ribbon would hang. The sight of the black arm band that George wore through that meeting had haunted her the whole night. 

After their day of mourning, speaking of the dead and missing them all, the next gathering had been a party. There had been alcohol and food and pastries. George spiked the non-alcoholic punch with his new blend of Giddy Gab, knowing Ron’s love of punch. Hermione chuckled at the memory now. Ron had been furious the next day because for a good fifteen minutes all he had done was compliment the color of Minerva’s tartan.

Looking around at the slightly dimming color of the tent, Hermione realized that afternoon must have passed into evening. Snape still wasn’t back. Standing, she winced. Shaking out her limbs, she exited the tent. Dusk had fallen over the clearing surrounding the tent, though there was enough light still for her to easily see the dark outline a few dozen few off to the side at the edge of the wards.

Walking over, Hermione lined herself up a few feet to the side of him, outside of his personal space but still in his peripheral vision. When she risked a glance over, she at least saw the tension seemed to have dissipated, but had been replaced by a world-weariness that made her heart ache strangely. Hermione took a breath to start, but ended up releasing it in a sigh, turning to look out at the woods instead. Then she tried again.

“In the end, it could have only been you,” Hermione said, her whispered voice loud in the silence of the night that had only just begun to be disturbed by distant chirps and whistles of insects and birds around them. “Whether the signs I looked for led to me seeing you in them, or because I somehow picked you before I started looking and that’s why the signs led to you, I don’t know. I do know that your death bothered me the most. So in the end, it could have been either. I don’t know.”

In her mind, she remembered. After the celebrations ended, the parties, the acknowledgements, Hermione had started to notice the absence. No one said his name but Harry. Harry had been so overwhelmed at the end though, that even after his grand speech at the battle, he had forgotten. He had become consumed with grief for Remus and Tonks, for Fred, that Snape had been pushed to the back of his mind. It was understandable she supposed, considering. He became the Savior again. He had to fill the shoes that he had been forced to wear before his fifth birthday. But when Hermione had realized….

She had been furious. It was one thing to see the Ministry not acknowledge the role Snape played. But to be denied a place with the known members of the Order of the Phoenix was another. Every time members were listed, his name was conspicuously absent. And after she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it. The internment of his ceremonial casket had been attended by very few. Harry and Minerva, Hagrid and Neville, her and Ron. There were a few other adults whose names she hadn’t learned, but she hadn’t bothered. So much of her had been furious and it had taken over her whole being. The only good thing about it had been that the Ministry hadn’t deemed it proper to send a representative to attend. Everyone had had something better to do.

“Everyone else had a life,” Hermione said. “Whether it was before or after the war, whichever war, they had a life. Remus and Tonks…When they died it hurt, but before they did they had a life. They had love, a family. They had a son. Yes, he’s an orphan, but he will never doubt his parents loved him or that he’s still loved now. Everyone I thought of even after I realized it would be you had the same reasoning.”

Hermione stopped. She could have gone on, but she doubted he would have appreciated it. 

“Either way I would like a final list. Of those that died,” Snape said, his voice rough and low. It reminded Hermione too much of his voice after his hallucinations for her comfort, as if he had been screaming though she hadn’t heard a thing. “When you are able to procure me one of course. I do not think that you thought to bring a list of war casualties with you.”

Hermione nodded and whispered, “Of course.”

Nodding, Snape turned from his quite observance of the landscape and went back inside. Hermione stayed out longer. She would probably be able to give him most of the list from memory. Order members at least. She had heard most of the names repeated solemnly, annually, from a list, and others from the memorials and placards. Most of them that had passed she hadn’t known. There had been so many roles that had been played over the years, before and during. But that had been how she had mourned, quietly, with a book of names and newspaper clippings, even for those that she had never met.

Suddenly, Hermione regretted upsetting the balance they had achieved after his recovery. Though looking back, she hadn’t done it deliberately. She had just been feeling discontented. Stretching her arms over her head, she vowed to not do it again. She just had to make it with him until the other her went back in time. And that meant hopefully what she had said would pacify this particular grievance. With that, she went inside.

Snape had retreated with his work into the bedroom with a spelled wall behind him. Hermione sighed. Petty, she thought. But better than an argument. With some time, he would doubtless come back to himself. 

Come back he did. The next morning, their morning routine flowed without a hitch. Hermione prepared eggs for herself. He toasted bread and put a kettle on. They both sat quietly as they ate and drank their tea. Hermione kept her amusement at his grimace every so often to a minimum. After he had eaten the meager amount he had served himself, she deemed it safe enough to speak.

“There’s only one thing I couldn’t understand,” Hermione said, clearing away the dishes to avoid the doubtlessly glacial look being leveled at her back. “I know that I somehow manipulated your magic in its raw form. I just don’t understand how.”

“As I said before, some Healers are trained in that form of wandless magic,” Snape said, coming over and rinsing his own mug before leaving it to dry and heading for the common area with Hermione following behind. “There is always a consent that needs to be given however.”

He looked at her pointedly.

“Which you didn’t give. I am sorry about that, I just…” Hermione started, but stopped at his upraised hand.

“It wasn’t simply a verbal consent that I was referring to,” he said, adjusting his shirt sleeves absentmindedly, “In order for such a healing to occur, there must be a giving of the patient’s magic. It is…similar to a wand oath, an unbreakable vow. The owner consents to let another manipulate his magic by extending it to the other person’s magic.”

“Like opening a door?” Hermione asked intrigued.

Snape nodded and said, “Very similar.”

Snape gestured for her to sit and she did, not on the offered sofa but on her cushion on the floor from the previous day. He shrugged, sitting in his chair. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers to his lips.

“But there are curses then that can do the same without permission?” she asked

“A few jinxes, hexes, yes,” Snape said, a small flinch under his eye betrayed him as he added, “Some with a talent for it can do it without the boundaries of a spell but it requires a certain…twistedness of character.”

Hermione shuddered. Then she frowned.

“That still doesn’t explain it,” Hermione said, thinking everything over. She hadn’t been malicious, but Snape had been in no state to give consent, magical or otherwise.

“Hmph,” he said, sitting back in his chair, resting his hands on his legs. “Perhaps not. I’ve never met anyone with this particular,” he gestured aimlessly, “experience.”

Hermione sighed and shrugged, “And about the rest? We never discussed the other points. Was I right?”

A sardonic eyebrow was the first response, but what followed was an in depth conversation about Mors Potestas, the withdrawal symptoms, magic depletion, magic replenishment, and just how she had managed to save his life by the skin of her teeth. 

Together, they worked on a solid way to save someone from Mors withdrawal. The end they rationalized could be avoided shortly after the hallucinations by the patient giving magical consent to a Healer present. It helped for them both to have something to focus on. They were able to relate on an intellectual level. 

It seemed that Snape was more driven than Hermione had ever seen, and yet more withdrawn. He would go into the bedroom more and more often, earlier and earlier after they ate supper. Even though she never saw or heard anything at night, the dark circles under his eyes only seemed to deepen the more time passed. Occasionally he would skip meals when she ate, waving her off when she would ask if he wanted some. She didn’t question it, merely made a mental note. 

“We should move again,” Hermione commented after another breakfast when he only had tea.

Snape nodded, before looking off into the distance. Hermione frowned, but took the silence as further acceptance of the plan. She went to clean her dishes, the mug slipping and landing with a clatter in the sink. The sharp intake of breath made her turn around in enough time to see him shaking his sleeve back down over his wand and look once again off to the side, seemingly at nothing. 

Hermione’s heart squeezed painfully as her stomach rolled with nerves at the same time. It wasn’t the first time she had noticed. She had once hit the tent flap too hard on her way in from the fresh air when she had seen him duck back around the corner, wand in hand. Ron hadn’t had such a bad reaction to the end of the war. He had had nightmares, to be sure. They all had had nightmares. Harry though had been another story. Post-war Snape looked like he was going down that path. 

“Shall we?” she asked finally, throwing her packed travel cloak over her shirt and jeans.

Snape nodded. Looking once more into his tea mug, he stood, going to rinse it in the sink. From her spot now by the entrance, Hermione saw him take a breath in before turning and coming to join her. Ducking out, she gave him space to compose himself as she began unravelling the wards around the camp.

When he finally exited, Hermione caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. Snape was better. The borderline sneer of boredom back on his face that she remembered clear as morning from the Potions classroom. He leveled it at her when he caught her looking. Looking away, back at her work, she listened for the tell-tale sound of the tent compacting. 

Shaking her head, Hermione was dismantling the last notice-me-not spell when a tense hand gripped her shoulder making her flinch. When she opened her mouth, Snape shook his head, raising a finger to his lips. Sure enough, to her left she heard a branch snap. Suddenly she felt very naked and vulnerable in their small clearing with the wards down. Her heart rate was spiked and she could already feel it begin to pound in her ears.

Hermione watched his dark eyes flickering everywhere at once when she came to the obvious conclusion. It was July. It had been for two days now. This was it. She tried to get Snape to look at her so that she could tell him to Apparate when she found herself flying off to the side, an explosion rocking the ground at her feet, off to the right and exploding their tent into pieces of fabric and splinters. 

Landing on the ground, Hermione didn’t bother looking for cover or trying to stand. She sent an explosive spell of her own out into the trees as a sickeningly green flash from Snape’s wand joined hers sending bits of dirt, bark and leaves up in a spray. Risking it then, she threw herself wildly over towards Snape, grabbing the nearest limb, his left wrist, before she Apparated, dragging him along with her.

Hermione came to winded, on her back in the middle of the grasses between the Burrow and the Lovegood’s, exactly where they needed to be. She hoped. Sitting up with a cough, she panicked. She didn’t see Snape. She opened her mouth to call for him when she encountered the same issue she had been having for months. She had avoided it simply by him being the only one around, but she hadn’t actually used his name since the whole debacle had begun. Professor? Not anymore. Mr. Snape? It sounded wrong. She couldn’t picture using his first name without permission. Thankfully, she was spared by the fluent cursing that came from her right.

“….bloody poor excuse for a witch,” Snape finished, brushing bits of grass and dirt from his shoulders and trousers as he walked up to her. “What in the nine circles of Hell did you think you were doing?”

Snape had found her first it seemed. Hermione wasn’t listening, she was looking around.

“He’ll follow us,” Hermione said, wand ready.

Snape shut his mouth, shockingly, following her example, but behind her, turning so his back was to hers. She didn’t question it.

“Bind, gag, Obliviate,” Hermione said in a side whisper. “That’s how he’s found.”

“Who?” he asked tensely, not asking how she knew.

“Thorfinn Rowle,” she said back.

An Apparition crack had them both spinning to face him at the same time, both hands raised as they cast in unison.

“Expelliarmus!” they shouted, the double spell hitting the target dead center and knocking him back at least ten feet.

Snape caught the wand flying at them as Hermione rushed forward, conjuring ropes to restrain and gag the man. A snapping sound made her turn around to see Snape breaking the man’s wand in two before tossing the pieces off to the side, disgust in his face and every action.

“Is there a reason he must be left?” Snape asked with a sneer.

“He provides a bit of information, yes,” Hermione said, but she was almost as disgusted as he was. She was almost tempted to kick the prone man, but only restrained herself because it would be beneath her dignity.

When he didn’t say anything further, Hermione looked up at him with a questioning glance. Snape made a satisfactory get-on-with-it gesture.

“I thought you would want,” she started, but he interrupted.

“From what I hear, it is you who has the greater talent with Obliviation, Miss Granger, please don’t make me wait around all day,” Snape said shortly.

“I....you. You knew about that?” Hermione asked, shock hitting her as she realized what the only truly remarkable Oblivate she had cast was that he must have been referring to.

Snape looked at her as if she was back to being a first year in his class.

“Miss Granger, I’m sure you were aware that I was a spy and procuring knowledge was my first dictate. I am merely impressed that you would willingly go that far to protect your parents with the known risks. I was on task to attempt to find the weaknesses of your little triad. Believe me, if they had been left in your charming home, it would have been my unhappy task of procuring them as leverage. The Obliviate traces you left behind gave me nothing but relief, I assure you,” he said. “None of the Dark Lord’s agents could trace them in their new identities and again, my relief was palatable. Reporting it may not have been pleasant for me, but it was the best outcome.

“And do stop gaping at me like a fish. Get on with it,” he said, pacing away.

Shaking herself, Hermione brought herself back to the task at hand. She would take in everything he had said when they were safe. Question him more when they were safe. Think about her... She shook herself. The Obliviate was easy. With a sigh, she sent a shower of gold sparks into the air when she had finished.

“What are you,” Snape begun in a hissing turning and charging at her.

Hermione held up a hand and hopefully his impending heart attack. Reaching into the cloak, she freed the Time Turner from its pocket, looping the long chain around her neck before reaching up and casting the other end around his, bringing her almost flush with him and making him swallow whatever else he was going to say.

“I didn’t want him dying of starvation,” Hermione said with a grimace, staring determinedly at the hourglass charm on the chain instead of the black buttons of Snape’s frockcoat now dangerously close to her hands.

Hermione started to turn. Immediately, she felt a difference. Before it had simply been a pull beneath her navel, similar to third year. Now, golden light seemed to flood her from every direction, looking up and around both her and Snape seemed encased in an orb of light, flashes interrupting it from every angle getting stronger as she continued to turn. Her head seemed fuzzy, heady like she was drunk and her skin went cold in patches as if she was being hit with local breezes of winter in the warmth of July. 

Her magic was being flooded, as if it was getting overfull from a rush that she couldn’t control. Though they were both at the epicenter, the rushes coming at them from every direction only entered her, feeding through her to the chain around her neck. Colors would flash, images hit her of people she knew, people she didn't, children, places, wedding funerals, all smashing into her at once. It was too much, as if she was a dam, full, too full and with one more drop she would burst. She hadn’t kept count, just kept turning until she couldn’t anymore, the glass frozen in her hands as the dam burst inside of her, the light behind her eyes going blindingly white before she blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pulling teeth for me because it's one of those in-between chapters where time just has to pass. As I'm not good at those, I left it and kept leaving it until I knuckled down with my friend Themis and just fraking wrote until it was done. Thanks to any and all of you that haven't given up on my atrocious writing schedule. I will never complain, mentally or otherwise, about updates on any fic ever again.
> 
> With that, the small teaser is they are now level with the world after the war. Now they are forced to spend almost ten months in each other's company. Beginning with Hermione being taken care of by Severus for a change.


	14. Hallowed Halls

_"Actually I'm highly logical which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook. ” Hermione Granger_

When Hermione came to, her head was pounding with the ferocity of her one and only experience with a hangover.  Her eyes ached even before she attempted to open them and she wanted nothing more than to simply lay as still as she possibly could until the pain faded.  As she raised her arm to her forehead she groaned, unable to suppress the noise such a great effort cost her.  Her entire body felt like it had been worked over like a punching bag.

"Back in the land of the living I take it?" a drawl sounded from close by, making her eyes snap open, before she closed them quickly with another groan.

So she hadn't been dreaming the past two months.  Wrinkling her noise as her other senses came gradually online, Hermione made a slightly disgusted sound as she squinted her eyes open once again.  Wherever they were, they were certainly _not_ in the tent.  It smelled like mold, ashes, and wet dog.  As her sight cleared and what little light there was didn't make her want to scream, she looked around.  When she realized where they were, she barely suppressed the gasp of surprise.  Her eyes flew across the room to locate him, straining to look up and behind her to see.

Snape was leaning casually leaning against the only truly solid wall left in the building, next to the side of the fireplace.  It didn't escape her that it was the only corner with the view of the door to the downstairs, the boarded up windows, and holes in the walls.  He seemed immune to the grime of the place, leaning there with his arms crossed against his chest without a care in the world, but his body betrayed him.  Well, maybe it was because they had been together for two months, but she noticed.  There was the same tension in and around his eyes that she now knew was a good predictor of a pain spike or a retreat into the bedroom.  His whole body was singing with it, as if she could see the fine tremble or muscles straining to be still.

Hermione coughed, unsettling a layer of dust, before wincing and letting her body fall back to the worn chaise she was laying on.  They couldn't stay here though, but she just didn't think she could bring herself to sit up, much less walk to somewhere, anywhere else.

"Why here?" she managed to ask, as she started to actively catalogue how much of her body was hurt and where.

"You were the one impressing upon me the urgency of not allowing others to know what you had done or to drastically change events of the past," Snape said, his voice, though quiet, carrying easily to her in the silence.  "When you hadn't given me direction on where we would be travelling once you lost consciousness, I had to make the executive decision.  The Shack seemed to be the best bet."

"Of not upsetting the future?" she asked, before almost sighing in the silence.  Of course that was what he had meant.  "What happened after?"

Snape let out a breath, not quite a sigh as he said, "After we stopped, we were out in the open.  A moment later you collapsed.  When I couldn't revive you,  I Apparated us here.  Well, as close as magically possible and levitated you the rest of the way."

The Shack.  A part of her still couldn't believe that Severus Snape had brought her _here_ of all places.  The best bet would now be to get them out of here as quickly as possible.  Getting her hands under her, Hermione pushed herself up to sitting, upsetting more dust and having her double over in a coughing fit.  As it passed and she wiped the wetness from her eyes, she took a few deep breaths before looking up.  Snape was in the same position, looking still tensely out at the door.  Feeling her gaze, his eyes snapped to her.  She managed a smile that probably looked like a grimace.  He looked away.

Silently she stood, swaying a bit a wincing.  Pulling the Time-Turner out, Hermione gasped.  A thin crack had spread from one side of the glass.  It seemed only superficial, nothing that would get worse if left alone, but the magic...

"Most likely its last use," Snape said, finally leaving his position against the wall with a final glance at the doorway.

Hermione swallowed.  The last one of its kind most likely, according to the Lovegoods and her own research.  Sighing, she took the chain off and coiled it around the hourglass, finding a spot for it in one of her few unfilled pockets.

"The tent!" she suddenly exclaimed, making a muscle under Snape's cheek twitch.

"That was to be your plan?" he asked, voice tense.

 Hermione sighed, rubbing fingers into her temples in a rather futile attempt to help the headache still pounding through her skull.  It had been the only way that she would have been _sure_ not to having anyone finding them out or running across her contemporaries and being in two places at once. 

Though, she might have been grateful.  If Rowle hadn't wanted to take out the possibility of them having reinforcements in the tent, one of his shots might have landed on them instead.  Though considering three seventh years had beaten him and a partner, she truly couldn't help but doubt his abilities.  Still, now she wasn't sure what her best option would be.  At his exasperated sigh, she looked up to see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Come," he simply said, turning and leaving the room, starting down the stairs.

Caught off guard for a moment, Hermione started.  Seeing him turn down the stairs and pass out of sight got her moving though.  The first few steps hurt, everything hurt, but she pushed herself.  Her foot caught on the last stair and she stumbled.  Snape moved a step closer as if to help, but he moved back quickly when the banister steadied her. 

"Ready?" he asked, gesturing to the hole in the floor.

Hermione looked back and forth between him and the entrance to the tunnel, confusion coloring her expression.  He stood there for a moment, simply staring, his hand still extended.

"Trust me," he said finally, his words terse and precise.

Hermione continued to stare, the weight of the words settling over her as her eyes chased over his face.  He didn't need to stay with her, not really.  She trusted him to take care of himself and stay out of sight for the next few months.  It was really her that needed to be careful.  There was just something in his expression.  Something that said this was more than words.  Something that meant something.  It was that thinking that stilled her questions of what and where he would take her.  It was that thinking that bolstered her, moving her forward and letting Snape be behind her, trusting him to follow. 

Still moving stiffly, Hermione sat, swinging her legs into the hole, not bothering with the three steps anchored into the earth.  As she dropped, she winced, stumbling to the side of the tunnel, concentrating on breathing and calming her aching body.  Looking back, she saw him carefully descending the ladder rungs.  Without a word or a glance, Snape passed her, descending into the tunnel.  Hermione followed.

Snape expertly led the way through the tunnel, stilling the Willow at the end. They crossed the grounds quickly.  She had never been at Hogwarts in July.  The weather was the warmest she had ever felt, even with it turning into evening.  She had stayed late into June in order to take her NEWTS that last year and she had come early to help Neville set up for his first year of teaching. Stopping her random thoughts, she concentrated on just keeping up.

They crossed the grounds as quickly as possible, Hermione throwing the hood of her robes up at the last minute. Though it was summer, she could just imagine all of the eyes that could be looking down. At last they made it to the castle wall. She watched, fascinated, as Snape lifted a hand and placed it flat on the stone, concentrating, until the stones folded their way inward, similar to her experiences in Diagon Alley. Following him in, the wall closed behind them.

A dim light at the far end of the hall was the only way that Hermione didn’t trip on her robes or her guide’s heels. The corridor stretched on another thirty feet before they came to the end, lit by a small wall sconce that had seen better days. Nonetheless, she was certainly not going to complain about their only light source. They paused there, Snape looking down slightly to make sure he had been followed. Hermione gave a small smile, more a nervous gesture than anything. This was the professor as she remembered him. Intimidating in darkness and shadows. He simply looked away, opening the latch of the door and swinging it towards them. Pushing aside a tapestry, he ushered her before him and into the corridor.

Hermione barely remembered this place, but by the feel of the air at the large staircase to her right only leaduing up, she assumed they were in the dungeons of the castle. Hearing his footsteps, Hermione quickly turned to follow Snape as he lead his way down the corridor of similar tapestries. The Arthurian theme to the tapestries made her remember. There had been a time in her fifth year when the stairs to the dungeons had decided to revolt and they had had to find an alternative way to get to Potions. If they kept going, they would eventually get to the classroom.

Snape stopped abruptly in front of a tapestry depicting Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’s tale. It followed the initial beheading, Sir Gawain’s trials, getting the girdle, and eventually, laying his neck out to have his head removed. Gruesome, Hermione thought looking it over quickly before she gasped. Snape raised a bloody two fingers to the first scene, tracing the beheaded stump of the Green Knight’s neck. Swallowing, Hermione stepped back so she almost didn’t hear him whisper.

“Memento mori,” Snape said, the tapestry magically splitting and drawing to the sides to reveal a door that swung inward.

Wand at the ready, Snape threw a shower of blue sparks into the fireplace Hermione barely saw over his shoulder, before he beckoned her inside.

The small sitting room was mostly square, a fireplace on the right wall, a bookshelf to its right curving onto the wall with the door she had just passed through, now mosly empty. A set of shelves were to the left of th fireplace. A small circular table was directly in frontof the fireplace with a large wing backed leather chair on either side. On the far left wall was a chest of drawers with a few books held by black marble bookends on both ends. When the door closed, it revealed a desk on the wall that had been almot completely obscured by the opened door. One door was directly across from their entry point, another was to its right on a wall that slanted towards the fireplace.

“I assumed you would think the preferable to wandering the earth,” Snape said from where he had walked to the fireplace. The fire was no longer his brief blue sparks and now filled the room with a warm light.

“The left leads to my bedroom. Come,” he gestured her over to the second door.

Snape placed the hand that was still bleeding on the latch. “Sanguis,” he whispered.

The door opened to what looked like a short hall, with another door directly in front of her on the far wall. Only after coming in did she realize th the room extended far off to the right in a long rectangle. The fireplace on the right wall seemed to match, back to back, the fireplace in the other room. There was a cot parallel with the wall, next to a short tble, to temporary looking to be called an end table that had a few potions. A bucket and a large bowl were next to the cot on the floor. A small basket of bandages was next to the bowl. A large laundry basket was at the head of the cot. She wandered closer, swallowing the bile as she recognized labels and guessed at potions. One was for pain, another was the nerve and muscle relaxer that Bill Weasley had given her at the Shell Cottage, two didn’t have labels, and the last was a blood replenishing potion. Her stomach threatened to twist with the rest of her intenstines and climb out her throat as it became abundantly clear what this room had been for. Tears threatened to fill her eyes that took two tries to swallow back down before she could turn around and look at the man behind her.

Snape was waiting patiently for her to finish taking in the room. The only other thing she noticed was a large cabinet to the left of the fireplace with lines of other potions.

“This could serve as your room. Obviously the décor would change,” he said.

“This way,” Snape said, gesturing to her to the door that she had barely noticed before. She had been too involved with being trapped between feelings of revulsion and disbelief. So internal had her struggle been she hadn’teven thought to gauge his reaction to her intrusion into his very personal reality.

The door opened easily without a key or magic signature.   Seeing her look when Hermione stopped in the doorway, Snape only smirked.

“If anyone got through the last ward, they deserved what they found in here,” he said, gesturing her forward once more.

Stepping forward through the doorway, she turned and quickly descended the stairway, trusting that he would have told her if anything waiting for her at the bottom was dangerous. His murmured ‘Lumos’ behind her lit her way easily enough. As she cleared the bottom she saw what should have been obvious for her to find there. She had just entered Snape’s private potions lab.

The room was a slightly strange trapezoid, with the shorter end to her left and diagonal walls widening to meet the larger end of the room to her right. The only reason she could see at all was a bar of spelled light attached to the far diagonal wall in front of her that had lit when she crossed the threshold.   A rectangular frame hung on the left wall directly in front of a table that would have looked like a window if there wasn’t the castle’s stone showing through the gap. Three long rectangular tables were set across the middle of the room. In lieu of a fireplace, there were two fire pits of raised brick squares to the right in between the tables. Both were ready and waiting to be lit.   Both had iron bars ready with hooks for cauldrons and one had a hook with a crank to raise or lower cauldrons as needed.

Another long table was pushed against the far wall that looked like it served the purpose of a desk, a hasty lab stool in front of it that seemed not to have seen much use. Books and pads of parchment were neatly stacked and propped in piles and between bookends. Nibs of pencils and a quill and ink all neatly arrayed and stacked on small tray. Even though it must have seen hours of work, everything was meticulously cleaned and organized. A large cabinet was pushed to the left of the book covered table. The top half Hermione could see some bagged and bottled ingredients through the glass doors but for the most part, it was empty. She could only assume more of the same would be found in the bottom half behind the solid wood doors. All neat. All clean. All dusted and organized. Except for one table.

The table on the left, directly under the spelled bar of light had just enough room between it and the wall for a person to walk completely around. Hermione wandered closer and here she could see what the room must have looked like before. A set of brass scales and arrayed weights beneath, two small brewing stations, loose bits of parchment, an open potions book propped up in a stand and a scroll of parchment spelled to stick flat to the table beneath it with chicken scratchings in rapid pencil. There was an uncleansed mortar and pestle that still had the remenants of something yellow and irredescent clinging to the sides. Two side bowls had crushed herbs that smelled strongly enough for her to recognize the rosemary and thyme. There were three measured vials in a wooden stand that held five. Two were stoppered and the one that wasn’t was nearly empty. She could only guess at the labels because she was still giving the table a wide berth. Everything on this table was covered in dust.

“I always thought that you brewed in the Potions Room,” Hermione commented, somewhat at a loss in the room.

He raised an eyebrow before finishing the light spell on his wand and sending sparks to one of the firepits, lighting it easily and filling the room with a much warmer light.

“If I enjoyed being continuously interrupted I still would not have chosen that spot for experimental brewing,” he said, tucking his wand away and crossing his arms over his chest. “Some steps are volatile and still need long brewing times that cannot be disturbed. It would be…neglectful to do so with the types of students known to grace these hallowed halls.”

Hermione huffed a laugh, rubbing hands over her arms in her jumper. She looked around again, trying to figure out the small puzzle presented to her in the room. There had to be someone who he would trust through the wards or who could…

“House elves?” Hermione asked.

“Hmph,” he replied with a side chuckle and nod, “Elf. Just one if I had a guess. It’s a wonder that you haven’t met yet. He’ll be along soon, if he can.”

“Why is everything clean except for the one table?” she asked.

“He knew better than to touch anything on there. Clear orders,” Snape said, gesturing her forward and back up the stairs.

“Definitely better than a tent,” Hermione said trying to lighten the mood of the room that the stairs emptied into.

Silence greeted her attempt at levity, but she really couldn’t be blamed for the awful attempt. Staring around the small room, it gave her the creeps. Like someone dancing on her grave. Though she was trying hard not to, it was almost impossible not to envision an injured Snape stumbling in here, bloody and beaten to heal himself to be up and ready to teach classes the next day. She swallowed a bit of bile at the thought.

“We’ll be able to change the décor, I’m sure. We’ll see whether or not we can make the room different, but that will entirely depend on how conscious Minerva is. You did mention she was Headmistress now, yes?” he asked as the exited the still slightly blooded door to the common room.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but both were distracted by a loud crack and the appearance of a small person in their midst. Hermione’s heart had jumped up immediately, but she had been too shocked to go for her wand, even after the creature launched itself at Snape, wrapping a slightly trembling body around his knees. Even though her heart was still pounding, Hermione looked at Snape’s face which was shifting from alarm to a fondness that was surprising. At her glance, he abruptly closed off again though and cleared his throat.

The elf, now that she could see him, wore a towel, slung around his body and tied on one shoulder with a   deep emerald so dark it only didn’t seem black when pressed against Snape’s black trousers. His slightly grey skin looked almost pale white against the cloth as he backed up, tugging one ear. Hermione rounded him slightly so she could see his face. Dark brown eyes stared up at Snape with something between wonder and embarrassment.

“Headmaster Snape is alive…” he whispered, giving his ear another tug.

“As alive as you Daniel. I must say I was impressed at the state of things here. You certainly didn’t have to keep it up so diligently. But there is no reason to keep calling me Headmaster. Headmistress McGonagall is the head of Hogwarts now,” Snape said.

Daniel cocked his head to one side. “But Headmaster Snape is alive. Hogwarts recognizes him. Headmaster Snape is still Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Snape sighed and replied, “Yes, I didn’t resign or die, but I am not Headmaster anymore.”

“You renounce Hogwarts? You resign?” Daniel asked as if it was the most awful thing he had ever heard. “Headmaster Snape must not resign!”

“It is not my place anymore elf,” Snape said, his dismissal of the idea somewhat harsh.

Hermione watched in amazement as the shock and hurt in the elf’s eyes gave way to something else rather curious. He stopped wringing his hands in his towel, smoothing it instead, before clutching his hands together excitedly.

“I will tell Headmistress McGonagall at once! She must know that-” he cried out.

“No!” Hermione and Snape said at once, making Daniel stop abruptly and once again tug his one ear with a small smile.

“Headmaster Snape and Miss Granger wish to remain at Hogwarts unseen?” Daniel asked with a smile.

“Yes,” Snape said with irritation. “Unseen, unknown, unremarked. Not even Minerva can know that we are here. It can’t be that difficult to keep from her.”

“Only the Head of Hogwarts can ask for such secrecy,” Daniel said with another tug to his ear. “The Head of Hogwarts must know everything from the elves of Hogwarts.”

After gaping openmouthed, Hermione closed her mouth with a click in order to try to smother a giggle as it rose in her chest. She couldn’t keep it completely hidden by her fist. The wide-eyed innocent look that he was trying to attempt had nothing of the sincerity she had seen in the faces of elves like him. It looked very…Slytherin.

“Fine elf, agreed. Now food if you would,” Snape snapped, recovering faster than Hermione.

The elf bowed and disappeared with a pop leaving the pair in a rather stunned silence. Hermione lost her battle, a giggle escaping her lips. Snape turned to glare at her, which shockingly made her laugh harder, not able to stop even when he stormed back into his potions lab [the door slamming behind him].

After Hermione had quieted somewhat, she could look at everything objectively. They were safe, even better cared for than if they had stayed traveling in a tent. The tent had no real evidence in it, even if someone could retrieve anything inside after the magic inside had collapsed. Even her laughter she could objectify as a pressure release from the past month or so. It was good to laugh again. She just hoped that it wouldn’t affect Snape detrimentally though. The male ego being the fragile thing that it was. With that jarring thought, she drew the ring out from under her shirt again.

The ring glinted slightly in the warm light afforded by the fireplace. Biting her lips, she unlocked the chain and slipped the ring off and onto her left ring finger again. The metal felt warm against her skin, and heavier than she remembered. She knew it was in her head, but it felt wrong to be on her finger after so many months without it. The last memories of Ron weren’t exactly on good terms. Not to mention now that she had ripped time, so many Hermiones would have just vanished from their prospective Rons. If she had been with him in every timeline, which was probably not likely anyway. In her other universe lives, who would she have been with if _not_ Ron? Thankfully, she was spared from that line of thought by a loud crack announcing the food delivered by Daniel.

The table was now almost overflowing with food. A covered dish sat before a large silver carafe and a cup and saucer. There was a bowl of steaming soup next to a tray of lemon cookies, a teapot and a more delicate teacup and saucer set. The smell set her stomach to growling and she realized that she had no idea of the time or when she had last eaten. Her eyes flicked briefly to the door before quickly sitting and pouring herself a cup. The scent of honey lavender trailed upwards made her sigh in contentment. It was her favorite tea blend to relax to.   The mix of chamomile made her want to curl up in the chair, using the scent like a favorite blanket. Sipping, she cradled the still steaming cup as she leaned forward to smell the soup. Something with vegetables and beef. The smell almost strong enough to coat her throat on its own.

The door opened making Hermione look up. Snape stood in the doorway, taking in her curled form in the chair before his eyes flicked to the silver carafe. He strode over with the eyes of a starving man.

“I wasn’t sure if Daniel had told you the food was here,” Hermione said before her brain made a quick jump and she added, “Headmaster Snape.”

The look he sent her was positively venomous, but it was quick because to maintain it would mean distracting himself from his objective, namely pouring as much coffee as could fit into the cup provided.

“You are not a cheeky house elf, nor are you my student any longer. You may call me Severus, if you think you can manage it,” he said, sipping his cup and sitting back with a sigh and the closest to rapture that she thought he could appear. “I dare say you have earned it with the trials of the past few weeks.”

“Then please call me Hermione,” Hermione said as she watched him sip his coffee. It was so funny in her mind that the two things that seemed to crack his wonderful facial control were coffee and house elves. It was a wonder to think.

“Would you like any food?” she asked as an attempt to fill the silence, gesturing around the table.

Snape gestured idly with his free hand from where he relaxed back in his seat, magic lifting the cover off the tray. A steaming pile of white rice, coupled with steamed vegetables and plain sliced chicken met her eyes. It was easily the blandest plate she had ever seen at Hogwarts. It wasn’t the food that made her eyes fly to his in mild astonishment. With another flick of his fingers, he set the tray down with a blatant show of nonverbal magic. The smirk showed that he had done it on purpose.

“You’ll be happy to know that my magic is now fully restored,” Snape said, finally leaning forward now that his magic had set the dish top off to the side, inspecting the food.

For some reason, his food seemed to require a lot of thinking. Snape reached for the dish cover, seemingly ready to cover his food again before he let it drop once more to the table with a sigh. Hermione took another bite of soup, eyeing the whole display with interest. Freeing his napkin with a snap, Snape draped it across his lap and reached for his fork. Shrugging, Hermione sipped a bit more at her soup, wiping her mouth with her napkin. When it didn’t look like he was going to say anymore, Hermione concentrated on enjoying her food and tea.

“You never did mention that I had been calling you by an incorrect name all these months,” Snape said between bites without looking up.

Hermione startled. It took her a minute to figure out what he was talking about. Looking at her ring, Hermione smiled a bit.

“You never did. We’re not married yet,” Hermione said, pouring herself a new cup of tea before settling back in her chair, matching his disinterested expression. If he wanted to know, he would have to ask.

Much as she expected, conversation ended with that and they finished eating in silence. Instead of the food magically disappearing when she sat her napkin on her plate, Daniel appeared again. With a snap of his fingers, the food disappeared.

“Would Headmaster Snape or Miss Granger like anything else?” he asked, the cheekiness gone in favor of that perfect obedience that she had finally gotten accustomed to after her work in the department.

“Nothing elf,” Snape said, “Though I would have thought with Miss Granger’s reputation you would be more reluctant to ask that question.”

Daniel looked solemnly at Hermione and she smiled slightly in acknowledgement.

“The house elves of Hogwarts owe Miss Granger a debt. Keeping our silence repays the debt,” he said with a bow and disappeared with a crack.

Hermione smiled fondly after him. He had disappeared everything but had refreshed her pot with a new one, steaming again with a new cup and saucer and a small plate and tray of biscuits. It was a good thing they hadn’t asked for anything more or their table would have doubtlessly been filled again. Snape also had a new carafe of coffee with a new cup and saucer.

Looking up, Hermione saw him staring at her slightly through his hair that had fallen forward into his face. The curiosity burned through in an almost accusatory glare. It made her chuckle again. Sipping her tea, she decided to answer this silent question even as she’d ignored the other one. Leaning back in her chair she looked off at the fireplace as she spoke, his gaze a bit too intense for her to hold. She didn’t know if she actually wanted to see his reaction anyway.

“There was an incident about a year and a half ago at Hogwarts. Certain items started going missing in the castle. Valuable items. Heirlooms, portraits, gold, candlesticks, more than that. Minerva was at a loss. The castle, the portraits, the ghosts, no one seemed to know. She told me over tea one day when I visited. So, I asked if she had asked the house elves,” Hermione smiled at bit with the memory. “I think she was embarrassed that she hadn’t thought about it. She summoned the Head Elf and asked him if he knew anything about the disappearances.”

Her expression shifted, pained, as she remembered the old elf’s clear discomfort and shame. “He seemed strange, upset, guilty, but he denied knowing. He just kept repeating that a house elf of Hogwarts would never steal from Hogwarts.

“By then, I had worked enough elf cases to recognize the signs. He was holding himself back from self- punishment, not because he didn’t want to or didn’t feel he deserved it, but because he didn’t do anything deserving it. He wanted to tell us, but didn’t have the word to tell us. I took over the questioning, and when he saw the direction I was going he started getting anxious, almost driving me to ask the right question. Finally, I asked if anyone in the castle had managed to invoke Right of Lineage on any of the elves in the castle and he was practically dancing on his toes in relief when he answered yes,” she said with another smile.

Hermione finally paused, looking at Snape for the first time since she’d begun. He had set his coffee on the arm of his chair, his attention now solely on her and her story, intrigued at least. The fire crackling a bit, playing with the shadows on his face, most of the light being absorbed by the black of his clothes. It was probably to be expected that she hadn’t seen him out of full frockcoat and trousers since he had recovered. Snape raised an eyebrow and she shook herself.

“Sorry, the Right of Lineage is something I’ve been fighting against but it’s been in place for centuries and undoing it elf by elf is so incredibly difficult and then you’re never sure you get them all. The short version of the story though is that one of the students had done his research and found one of the elves had been descended from a house line that had traditionally served his family. When he summoned the elf to his room, he invoked the Right, taking her from the service of Hogwarts and into his family’s again. He had been using her to vanish things from the castle to his home to sell over break,” she finished in a rush.

“And what became of the student?” he asked his voice low and bordering on dangerous.

“Minerva was furious. Several teachers were calling for his expulsion. He was only a third year though so the other half were calling for leniency. Since only the elves and professors were even aware of the issue, officially, they were able to decide. I was brought in for the first part of his punishment. He revoked his right, and the right of any of his descendants, to own or keep house elves, unless an elf offered the service, freely and without any coercion, magical or mundane. He was put on report and his magic monitored for the next two years. And of course house points. Two hundred points were taken from Ravenclaw. It was the greatest loss their house had in almost fifty years,” she sipped her tea again.

“And this was the source of the debt the elves feel they owe you?” he asked, his voice more relaxed now.

“It was a bit about restoring the honor of the elves of Hogwarts I think. Their own laws of confidentiality and confidence held them from turning the elf in on their own. That it was resolved was part of it. I also… found the elf in question… a new family to serve,” she grimaced.

Snape snorted, “And how did that go?”

“Well enough,” Hermione said, “We found her a family from the petition list at the Ministry.”

“That certainly must have chafed for the founder of S.P.E.W.,” he remarked, the sarcasm in his voice thick enough to spread on toast.

Hermione smiled sadly, “A bit.”

The truth was, the elf had been so happy to find someone to serve, she hadn’t felt bad when she had the binding contracts signed. She had been at her office since she had passed her N.E.W.T.S. She had finally learned the difference between those who needed help, those who wanted help, and those who would accept help. At first she had been shocked that it was often not the case where a case involved someone who was all three. She was lucky if she could help or if they would let her help in almost two out of every five cases. Likky was a case that she considered a victory. She had helped her out of a bad situation and into a good one. It was a good day.

“Did anyone discover his reason for doing what he did?” Snape asked. “It is not often that third years decide that grand theft is a viable option or career.”

“Late, but yes, eventually,” Hermione said. “He refused to say. Almost everything was accounted for within the first day that he was caught.”

Truthfully, Hermione was ashamed. It had taken them far too long to discover the boy’s motivations. His mother had been ill. His father had been an Auror who had fallen during the Battle of Hogwarts. His mother was a Muggle and was unable to avail herself of the Healing services of the wizarding world. The benefit services that Auror families enjoyed were not something she was eligible for after her husband had passed. The office he worked for after money had started running low did not pay for the  treatment sh needed. Another reason Falcona’s job offer had been so tempting.

“I made sure the problem was taken care of,” Hermione said by way ending the story. What she meant was that she had sponsored her medical treatment by threatening to go public with their treatment of war widows. Thankfully, being made famous had some benefits. They had paid a Muggle a witch’s widow payment.

When it became apparent that she would not elaborate, they lapsed into silence again, finishing their respective beverages. Hermione was the first to turn in. The original exhaustion that she assumed had been from ripping time had left her still drained. As she closed the door, steeling herslf for th amount of transfiguration awaiting her, she practically slumped in relief. Either Snape or Daniel had made the survivor’s room into a fittin bedroom. The long twin bed aginst the wall in carefully neutral, deep violet made her smile. She took a step towards the bed and suddenly fell to her knees, barely catching herself with her hands.

Gasping for air, Hermione struggled to breathe as her heart rebelled, slowing to an irregular and sluggish beating. As quickly as it began, it was over, but she stayed on her hands and knees, gasping air in. She was shaking, terrified, wishing that she could wave off the attack as exhaustion, but she had never felt anything like it before. She was almost afraid to get into bed, if this was something that could happen to her at night, would she wake up. Looking back, she almost wanted to get Snape’s opinion. She ended up deciding against it. If it was nothing and a one time occurrence, she didn’t want to make herself into a nuisance. Finally feeling steady enough, she pulled herself up and into bed.

 


	15. Beginnings of a Passive War

Hermione was drifting. Far from being the calm, if slightly strange, dreams she was used to, scenes of violence greeted her at every turn. Fires burning. Smoke and flashing lights. Everywhere the scent of charred meat, sweet metallic blood, and burning things. Dragged from image to image, never setting down until she spiraled, looking up and seeing the Dark Mark above the clouds. Dizzy, she stumbled backwards into an iron railing.

Gasping, she realized she was in the Astronomy Tower. She wanted to cling to the railing, to right herself and her stomach, but her body moved against her will, straightening abruptly. There, in front of the opening were Dumbledore and Voldemort. How she hated them both. The emotion didn’t even register as alien. She wished they were gone. Abruptly, Voldemort vanished and her wand was up, pointed at Dumbledore.

“He lived,” she snarled out, not recognizing her voice.

“Severus, please,” Dumbledore said, eyes alternating between pleading and commanding.

“I hate you,” she spat.

“I know,” Dumbledore said, “And that’s why it could only have been you.”

Green light flashed and Hermione saw Dumbledore fall in a rush of robes. Then she was following him, Falling backwards through the gap, down, down, down.

Hermione gasped awake, her whole body jolting up from her bed from her remembrance of the fall. Grasping at the fragments of the dream, she tried to remember. She had gotten lax in recent years as the nightmares had faded, but she had been an expert lucid dreamer after the war. She remembered falling from the Astronomy Tower. Dumbledore was there with Snape, and Voldemort? She couldn’t remember. 

As her heart started to calm, she let the rest of the details slowly slip away. The terror fading more with every passing second. The next morning, if she dreamed at all, she didn’t remember.

When Hermione finally did wake, the aches of the previous day had mercifully faded. Looking around, she saw that she had either been dreadfully out of it or someone, she hoped Daniel, had been very busy whilst she slept.

The twin that she had slept in was no longer the only piece of furniture in the room. The traveling robe with its intricately stuffed pockets had been hung on a coat rack at the foot of her bed. The fire was now lit and showcased nicely, a new mahogany wardrobe facing it on the opposite wall. The cot and survivalist equipment had been vanished from the day before, but the cabinet to the side of the fireplace still seemed to have knick-knacks left over, potions in bottles, some bandages, and other things she wouldn’t touch without Snape’s express permission.

Stretching, she sat up, realizing with a start that she had been under the covers. Her trainers had been cleaned to almost looking new again and were next to a pair of slippers. Realizing that she was in pajamas with a clear Hogwarts patch over the breast pocket didn’t make it any easier to accept that she had been stripped by a house elf. She would have grumbled about it, but she had had such a good night’s sleep and was now so comfortable that it was hard to complain. The extra service she simply waved off as the debt she had with them coming due. As long as there were no more surprises.

Hermione stood up, slipping her feet into slippers and throwing the dressing gown that had been left on her bed around her. Her clothes were still missing mysteriously and unaccounted for. Walking to the wardrobe, she opened the door to see her old jeans and jumper hanging, cleaned and pressed next to other clothes that she was astonished to see and would not be wearing. If she could help it. Sparing an upset glance at her traveling robe, she realized she might have to if she didn’t want to wear the same clothes every day. Damn her for unpacking in the damn tent and damn Rowle.

When she opened the door, Hermione was wearing her cleaned clothes from the previous day, her hair in a rough tail for want of a brush or mirror. She wondered if it would be presumptuous to ask for one when Daniel came for breakfast. Or a window. She grimaced. That had truly been an advantage to the tent. She at least knew she could go outside safely. Mostly safely.

“Though it’s meager, I’m sure that the elf would sink into the floor to see your expression over your breakfast,” a mean drawl came from the chair on the left of the fireplace.

Hermione closed her eyes with a sigh. “It wasn’t about the food,” she said, rounding the other chair and looking him over.

He sat, cradling another cup of what she assumed was coffee from the combination of relaxed shoulders and expression. The frockcoat was gone though, in favor of a high collared shirt and waistcoat. She almost said vest, but the buttons were too severe and traveled up to the hollow of his throat. The trousers seemed the same, but the shirt was more flowing with long cuffs that still covered half of his hands. It seemed shockingly more revealing, though no more skin was showing than yesterday. The white was just such a difference. She had gotten used to him in full buttoned up black for too long after his recovery.

“A welcome change,” Snape said as she sat herself across from him and pouring some of the magically hot tea.

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, stirring in her sugar, looking over the food which was certainly meager by house elf standards. There was only a large bowl of cut fruit and a basket with toast and pastries.

“The comfort of one’s own clothing. Not having to rely on the items selected for you by someone else,” Snape drawled, the smirk as he sipped his coffee again sinking the words firmly in for Hermione.

Anger threatened to rise and she almost sent a passive aggressive glare that she had gotten into the habit of shooting him before she calmly took another sip of her tea, actively willing herself to relax, concentrating mostly on the muscles of her shoulders and face. 

“You make a valid point,” she said slowly, her mind whirling as she paused to sip her tea. “Though if the supplier of said clothing had just bought them for after saving my life I wouldn’t complain. Not when Weasley sweaters of orange and green were more readily available to her.”

Hermione looked up to carefully gauge his reaction, unsurprised to see him tense, but shocked and pleased to see a muscle in his cheek twitch slightly, almost in a smile. She counted it as a victory, however small. 

“How did you sleep?” she asked now that the awkwardness had passed.

“As well as could be expected,” Snape said in a rare show of honesty. “I assume your living arrangements are now up to your expectations?”

Almost as if that was his cue, Daniel appeared with a crack. He gave his ear a tug before he snapped his fingers, the food that had been untouched disappeared, a covered dish appearing before Hermione and a new bowl of fruit and toast with biscuits appeared. 

“Very sorry, Miss Granger,” the elf said, “Daniel did try to make things as Miss Granger would wish, but Daniel thought that Headmaster Snape and Miss would prefer to be secret than have different robes.”

“That’s exactly right Daniel, thank you,” Hermione said with a smile. “The room looks much better. If you could, do you think you would be able to find me some clean toiletries?”

“Of course Miss Granger,” the house elf said, disappearing once again.

“So what next?” Snape asked her as she served herself fruit in addition to the egg on her plate.

“Hopefully next I’ll be able to locate a shower that I will be able to use without arousing suspicion,” Hermione said, taking a bite.

Inwardly, Hermione had hopes that the Headmaster of Hogwarts actually had the ability to manipulate the castle as much as had been implied in the brief sentences that the topic was given in Hogwarts: A History. Such as routing a secret door into the Prefect’s bathroom. Or creating a whole new one. Watching his eyes as they eased off to the side, she knew that it wasn’t going to be as easy as she hoped.

“I will be able to do some slight manipulations to make living arrangements easier, but Minerva is far too nosy to risk making any major changes,” he said.

Shrugging off the backwards compliment to Minerva, Hermione went back to eating, carefully keeping her attention on her food, even as he stood. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him head towards his own room before finishing up her food, letting her thoughts drift to cataloguing. Most of her money, magical items, the two books, her journal of condensed notes on her time traveling research, and the Mors research they had done together, were all in her traveling robe currently hung in her room. She had unpacked her clothing, food, and toiletries along with stacks of journals, papers, and other various items had doubtlessly been destroyed when the tent had. She hoped. Tent magic was tricky and the moment had been so quick when Rowle’s spell had hit it that she should really check to make sure it was disposed of properly.

“If you would come with me?” Snape asked from behind her, making Hermione startle slightly.

Hermione mentally kicked herself. Just when she thought he couldn’t do that to her anymore she got lost in her own thoughts. Standing, she followed him back into “her” room. Snape paused, seeming to think about something before he turned back to face the door to their sitting room.

“It would be best to leave the door open, at least until the entrance wards are completely taken down. I would rather not risk doing it with the Headmistress still in residence,” he said.

Gesturing to the new and odd shaped door on the short left wall, Snape pushed against it, swinging into a perfectly wonderful bathroom. The door on the left wall she ignored at present as she admired to small and serviceable shower in the corner, the low tub on the floor next to it, and the sink on the drawers to her right, against a wall with a small oval mirror. The shower had glass doors and a shower head that would have looked more at home in a Muggle flat than Hogwarts with the detachable shower head. The tub was something that she would have expected. It looked like someone had taken a very large, claw footed tub and pushed it into the floor, leaving only the two inch lip of the tub and the curled feet grasping at the floor.

As she finished taking it all in, Hermione turned to Snape and asked, “Where does the other door lead?”

“To my bedroom,” he said, smirking after she didn’t control her facial expressions quickly enough. “No need to look so shocked Miss Granger, it is after all the same circumstance with which we have been living for the past month or so.”

“Hermione,” she corrected him, pleased to see the small frown appear between his brows. “I believe that we had decided on a first name basis, did we not?”

Snape nodded, “Very well. Hermione.”

Hermione looked away quickly, working on looking over the sink. Though the reminder of familiarity had been her idea, somehow hearing her first name was rather unnerving from him. There hardly seemed to be anything around, the entire room very bare. Almost like a guest bathroom in a home that was never used.

“We will have to manage with it as it is,” Snape said, already moving back through and into her bedroom. “Perhaps adjustments can be made if Minerva leaves the castle.”

“In addition to dropping the wards?” Hermione asked, following him back into the common room.

“Precisely,” he said “Now, what other things are we supposed to have done in the past? I am assuming that you have that planned out?”

Hermione nodded, going back into her room, grimacing at the wardrobe as she passed it, before going to where her traveling robe was hanging. Rummaging through the pockets, she pulled out her notes and journal.

“There aren’t too many events that I could isolate specifically. The Auror office certainly had its fair share of tips written in, but I figured that at least a few of the ones that went too well had some sort of insider information. That’s where I figured we would start,” Hermine said, “I figured if you knew some of the possible hideouts of your former…associates, that it would be easier.”

“Seems logical,” Snape said, crossing to his desk on the far wall and removing a sheet of parchment along with a pencil from the drawers.

Hermione sat at the wing back chair that she had before, breakfast now completely cleared away. Snape sat across from her. Together they wrote out a list of names together with locations. 

At the end, two hours later, Snape sat back with a sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in partial exhaustion and part frustration. Almost like it had been a signal, a steaming cup of coffee appeared near his notes. Snape opened his eyes with a wry smile. Hermione watched as he drew a line across the bottom of the parchment and hastily scribbled out a list before tearing it on the line using the edge of the tale. He handed it to her before he reached for his new coffee, cradling it slightly and watching her over the rim of the mug.

Hermione took it, looking it over. She recognized what the potion the ingredients were for immediately, though there were a few extras, such as chameleon blood.

“Polyjuice?’ she asked.

“I would normally attribute your knowledge to being an introvert utterly incapable of climbing out of books, but I know better,” Snape said, “Yes, Polyjuice potion. This mission may involve a considerable amount more work for you than you had initially thought. There is no way that I can provide accurate enough information without actually seeing things for myself. Those are certainly places to start. The first is procuring the tool we will need to walk to world with anonymity. You will, of course, be the person to purchase them.”

“Do you really think we’ll only need ten doses with all of the things that we will need to do?” she asked.

“It is certainly the largest amount the will stay potent for now,” he said, waiting to hear her reasoning without adding insult.

“We could buy the ingredients though. Unbrewed, they have a longer shel life,” Hermione pointed out.

Snape nodded in acquiescence. Hermione pocketed the list in her jeans, thinking back to July. Honestly, with her recent experiences combined with second year, she hardly needed the list, but Snape had added in other ingredients that they wouldn’t needed for Polyjuice, and she wasn’t up for asking why just yet.

“I suppose there’s really no reason for delay then is there?” she asked, standing.

Snape nodded again, returning to his coffee as Hermione passed through the open door into her room, closing it behind her. Reluctantly walking over to the wardrobe, she opened the doors. The wizarding world was rather ridiculously slow in its fashion trends. They normally followed Muggles, just a few decades or so behind, in more outlandish and bold colors and patterns. As such, she guessed the skirts, jackets, and undergarments were all from between 1900 and 1930.

There were bustles and corsets, bloomers and combinations, skirts, overskirts, jackets, cuffs, all in various shades of green, purple, orange, gold and silver. There would be no way that she would choose them herself, but she knew she would stand out in Diagon Alley far more in her jumper and jeans than in anything in here. Hermione sighed. Nothing for it then. Stopping in front of the mirror, Hermione made a few minor adjustments before heading back to the common room to ask Snape to help her off the grounds. 

In the end, she had chosen a lavender skirt with a violet and silver overskirt that gathered in an apron in the front and bustle in the back. The jacket was magicked to be light and cool with a scoop too low to be proper Victorian fashion and stripes too bold to be completely Muggle. Her hair she had swept up and modeled the color after a shade between Molly and Ginny. Her make-up had added higher cheekbones, freckles, and dark eyeliner, and her eyes she cast a quick lightening to make them seem blue. All in all, she looked nothing like herself. Stuffing a few galleons into her one of eight pockets in the skirt (the only practical thing about the whole mess) and her wand into another, she was ready. Until she went in front of Snape.

“What the bloody hell did you do?” he asked rudely, pushing his chair back abruptly and standing, the force in his voice making her step back and almost onto the damnably long skirt.

“Unfortunately, I have to rely on someone else for clothes, as you already pointed out,” Hermione said, planting her hands on her hips, her voice rising slightly to match his.

“Not the damned clothes, that,” he spat waving at her hair, “I thought you would be trying to be unnoticed, not try to be invited to a Weasley family reunion. Gracious, if the clothes weren’t enough by being clearly out of date then you had to go and chose ginger.”

“I beg your pardon,” Hermione growled out, “First, the clothes were my only option, second, I didn’t want to look like myself, and third, what is wrong with being a Weasley?”

Some of Snape’s anger deflated for a moment, before it was very clear that something had wound him up again, his chest puffing as if with some new realization.

“Oh anyone else, please, I beg of you. But I’m sure that that explains the pitiful rock currently sitting on your finger. Honestly, he is working correct?” Snape said, the condescension in his voice at intolerable levels, “Has he taken completely leave of his senses? I would have hoped he had gained more intelligence with age.”

“How dare you,” Hermione hissed, “You have no idea about what my relationship with Ron is like, or even what my expectations were and here you go making such a hateful and judgmental string of comments like that. Yes, he is working, as a well-respected Auror I will have you know. And my ring is absolutely per-.”

“Predictable,” Snape interrupted, “Predictable is what you were going to say? How perfectly perfect for a Gryffindor role model, red and gold.”

“Perfect,” Hermione spat, “I was going to say perfect.”

“Of course you were,” Snape said, stepping towards her with narrowed eyes. “And how often when you were brewing your preparations did you have to take it off?”

Hermione opened her mouth, before closing it with a snap, glaring and fuming.

“Often I would imagine. Gold is a terribly soft medal and so sensitive around brewing stations. Did you know beforehand or was there a mishap when your hand passed through potions fumes? And rubies. A powerful potion ingredient that could fall in and prove terrible and explosive if the gold setting happened to loosen, no? Am I wrong?” he asked, his voice taking on such a gloating tone that Hermione wanted to slap him.

Instead, Hermione used the fury to retaliate, “You do know what I do for a living, do you not? I work at a desk. At the bloody Ministry of Magic. Were it not for this damned crusade, my hands wouldn’t be near a bloody cauldron for the rest of my life, thank you very much, much less potion steam that could hurt my ring. A fact that Ron was well aware of before he proposed.”

“No experiments? No rush of discovery? Simply mundane paperwork, yes I can see how that would be very comforting,” Snape drawled.

“Contrary to your obvious blinders, not all experiments involve potions, though I’m sure you, with your obviously so superior intellect, were aware. I do have spare time to use for my own work, just like you clearly had time for yours,” Hermione said, waving her hand in the basic direction of his private lab.

“And how well does that work with your future spouse, hm?” Snape asked.

Hermione fumed silently, wanting to retort, but not wanting to lie, and now temporarily at a loss for words. Apparently, it was all he needed. Snape just let his mouth draw up into a superior smirk that only worsened her muteness and desire to lash out at him. Turning away, she forced herself to take a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms before letting it out in a rush. Forcing a smile, she turned around.

“How do I get to Diagon Alley?” she asked, making his smirk twitch in amusement as he clearly thought he had won some kind of victory, increasing her need to smack it off his face. She dug her nails in further.

“This way,” he said, beckoning her into her room once more. “You are looking at the second of two fireplaces in Hogwarts on the Floo Network. At least, there were only two during my tenure. Since Minerva had never accessed these rooms, I would say it would be safe to assume that the connection is still valid. When you return, simply say Hogwarts dungeons.”

Going into one of the cabinets, Snape opened one of the various jars there and extended it to Hermione to take a pinch. She took the Floo powder without looking at him, fury still in every fiber of her being. Throwing it into the fireplace, she had never been so grateful to leave a place in her life.

~~

When Hermione returned, arms laden with supplies, most of the anger had dissipated. She had still not forgiven him his remarks, but she was willing to overlook them for the sake of cooperation. It wasn’t like she had the ability to move if she wanted. April couldn’t come soon enough. 

Most of the bags she set down on her dresser, not willing to make the journey down the spiral staircase in the unfamiliar skirts. Thankfully it afforded her a few minutes of overhearing a debate growing ever louder outside her door.

“…and I will thank you to not interfere!” Snape finished.

The low murmur of the reply was cut short as Snape jerked her bedroom door fully open, startling her almost to the point of a heart attack. Instead of saying anything, he merely whirled back into the common room, waving a hand dismissively and Hermione heard the tell-tale ‘pop’ of a disappearing house elf.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked quietly, moving into the room.

“Despite the arrangement, I do require some semblance of privacy Mis- Hermione,” Snape scowled as he corrected himself. “Do keep your nose in your own affairs.”

“Well if it concerns irritating our only means of getting food and drink, I would say it was my affair,” Hermione responded.

“The matter was none of your concern,” Snape snapped, giving her a wide berth as he slipped past her, picking up the bags of supplies and heading down into the potions lab, very effectively cutting off the argument.

Even though Hermione doubted she would see him before dinner, she changed in the bathroom, trading the skirts and boots for her jeans and trainers, though keeping the Victorian-esque top, rather than risking her only jumper and shirt getting ruined by potions ingredients. She did undo all of the cuff buttons to her elbow so she could roll them up though. She also made sure all of the magic around her head was released so her hair and eyes were once again their normal shades. The make-up she left simply because she didn’t want to waste time washing it off.

When she finally descended the stair, Hermione saw that Snape was already at work pulverizing the knotgrass blades, the rest of the ingredients organized across one of the tables. Without even looking at the potions text open on the table, she went and fetched another mortar and pestle and started working on the ammonia chloride, grinding it down to a fine powder.

They worked quickly and in relative silence. The preparation for the potion was relatively simple. The waiting would be the worst part. The full twenty-one days would have been difficult, with the deadline that she had roughly outlined in her head. Thankfully, Snape could hurry it with a trick she hadn’t found in any textbook down to twelve days. 

She knew that the first tip had come in at the end of July. The first leading to a successful arrest had been in August. By the time they had finished and the potion was brewing in two separate cauldrons, Hermione was starving. A fact that she had completely forgotten about until her stomach announced it, loudly, to the entire room.

“Sorry!” Hermione immediately apologized, before a laugh was startled out of her. “I, well I guess we forgot to stop. Do you think Daniel left food?”

Snape wiped his hands on a towel, “Daniel is rather used to my habits. Our first night made it clear he hasn’t forgotten. He would not have left food without us present.”

When they reached the door to the common room, Hermione stopped so short she was afraid Snape would have run into her back.

“What on Earth?” she asked, wandering into the room.

Their small table was not covered with an elegant emerald tablecloth with a gold runner dividing it. A tall vase of flowers sat in the center, surrounded by votive candles. More flickering votives were scattered around the room on shelves and above the fireplace were two elegant candelabrum. The overall effect was lovely. Hermione turned with a smile to Snape, who now looked absolutely livid.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, concerned.

“Daniel,” he whispered, with a combination of a summons, a warning, and an admonishment.

The only sign that the elf had heard was the appearance of two covered dishes on the table, an iced tea for Hermione and Snape’s expected coffee. Hermione watched as Snape crossed the room with stiff motions to the vase. Every motion seemed to promise violence, but he was restrained when he set them down on his desk. When he sat to eat, every motion was composed, but Hermione could see the tendons jump in his neck every so often. It wasn’t kind to admit, but seeing him so obviously angry, even if she didn’t know the reason, made up for her irritation before.

The brewing days passed quickly enough. There were very few nights that she didn’t find herself up with nightmares in the middle of the night and unable to remember them the next morning. Thankfully, the heart ailment that had so frightened her the first night hadn’t resurfaced. The only truly interesting development seemed to be the quietly passive war between Snape and Daniel. 

The elf seemed absolutely determined to add color and warmth to their living arrangement. Snape now had a bin dedicated to things he had removed. Most notable being drapes, the fake window that they had framed, a painting of roses on a table, more ornate candelabrum that had appeared, various vases, and a porcelain sculpture of two doves.

“It is getting out of hand,” Snape said on the eleventh day after starting the Polyjuice potion.

Hermione looked up from her morning cup of tea, relieved to see he hadn’t been injuring himself from the noises coming from his room. Snape stalked forward, wand raised, levitating large broken pieces of wood and shapeless fabric and stuffing in front of him, colored in neon yellow and green. With a swish, the offending remnants of the piece of furniture flew into the bin. He scowled at the pieces still sticking out and with a quick Engorgio, increased the size of the bin.

“What was it?” Hermione asked as she sipped again.

“A loveseat,” Snape said, throwing himself into the seat across from her with a huff and then a wince. “As I had stated previously, I have no need for extraneous furniture. After the two tasteful ones met their end, this one I can only assume was an elf’s way to ‘flip someone off’.”

Hermione laughed. The tension melted slightly from his still scowling frame, but went mostly unnoticed by Hermione as she sipped. Daniel had been redecorating her room a bit as well. Though she appreciated every bit that made her forget the living arrangement.

“Well after tomorrow, we’ll have more freedom,” Hermione said. 

“Though we’ll be risking our necks on every outing toying with agents of dark forces,” Snape replied, leaning forward to pour a cup of the black river water he espoused as God’s own creation.

“So just reliving our childhood days,” Hermione remarked, getting him to crack a smirk, “I hear that’s what our adult years are supposed to be filled with.”

In favor of a comeback, they both were startled slightly by the appearance of breakfast. Snape’s side of the table overflowing with flowers and candles, biscuits and a rather huge helping of sugar cubes next to his coffee. Hermione watched Snape’s nostrils flare in irritation. Grasping the closest bouquets, Snape threw them into the fire. Snatching his wand up, he made the rest follow into the flames.

They finished breakfast quickly. Hermione changed into her Muggle clothes and one quick trip to a certain prestigious Muggle university later, they had four different sets of DNA each for the potion.

“You did say something about Rookwood and Scotland, correct?” Snape said after they had finished lunch when she returned.

Hermione nodded. 

“Well,” Snape stood. “Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get further, but I need to feel I'm making progress, please forgive me. They will be plowing through the rest of July, August, and September quite quickly to get to October. The mystery of Hermione's dreams and heart condition won't be answered yet.. but what happened to her parents will.
> 
> Also please excuse any errors, I unfortunately no longer have a beta reader :(


	16. The Hunts Begin

Hermione spilled out of the fireplace, trying desperately to smother a smile. She knew it would look strange on her face which was now tight because of her current alias’s skin. It still felt strange wearing someone else’s face for this long. This particular one had darker skin, dark brown eyes, and bushy hair that rivaled her own. The bright green three-quarter length jacket that was something out of the 1890 version of Harper’s Bazaar, matching perfectly with the bustle skirts she carefully lifted clear of the ash. The clothes were becoming a bit of a hassle, though she had to admit it was a bit fun to dress on the outrageous side of wizarding fashion. By the time Snape stepped clear of the mantle, she had drawn up a bit of righteous anger to smother her amusement, making a show of brushing ash from her skirts as she watched him step clear.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” Hermione said, brushing at her sleeves unnecessarily. Daniel was very good at keeping the fireplaces clean.

“Oh. I really did,” Snape said, wincing slightly as the bones in his face reformed after the Polyjuice wore off, turning him from a shorter, much rounder, man, to his tall and pasty self. “It’s hardly the obliviate mastery of your parents, but I believe the alcohol consumption before would be sufficient enough to explain the gaps.”

Hermione knew enough of Rookwood’s proclivities and she knew that Snape knew more. She wanted so desperately to hold onto her Gryffindor indignation and black and white mentality, but such a larger part of her wanted to allow herself to feel amusement, even victory, at what he had done.

“Regardless,” Hermione said finally, “It wasn’t a kind thing to do.”

Seeing the anger rising on Snape’s face, Hermione allowed herself a small smile, enough to let him know that she knew and understood. Confusion marred his face for an instant before he shook his head and turned away. The fire popped to life behind her and Hermione jumped aside with raised hands as Snape whirled back around, wand at the ready. His left nostril twitched, his entire body thrumming with energy. Turning, he walked away, through her doorway to the common area. The door to his room slammed shut, making her jump.

Hermione shivered, only partially due to the fact that her body was returning to normal. In their Polyjuiced counterparts, they had been about the same height. Her skirt was now dragging on the floor. Snape’s pants had been two inches too short when he had stormed off. It should have made him look childish. Now, as she raised shaking hands to her cheeks, she realized it hadn’t diminished his power at all. Not bothering with changing, she walked shakily to the love seat that Daniel had courteously left in her room, and sat, reaching up and freeing her hair carefully from the tight pins that had held the stray hairs into her braid.

Hermione wished there was something she could do. More than anything, she wished she could contact Ginny. Running her fingers through her braid, she carefully combed through her hair with her fingers as she thought. Ginny was easily her best girl friend and the only one that she could talk about this with. Harry had scared her too, on occasion. She was almost positive Snape wasn’t sleeping well, though she couldn’t prove it. Her own strange nightmares were starting to get to her. According to Ginny, working with the Aurors had helped channel the paranoid tendencies of Harry somewhat. Eventually, it was the counseling that her parents suggested that had really helped. The idea of Snape in counseling though. She doubted she would survive the suggestion. And she was trapped. Trapped with someone going through another sort of withdrawal that she couldn’t combat with magic and potions.

The second stage of capturing Rookwood was at the same time more and less complicated. She sequestered herself in her room, closing the door. Hermione doubted that she would see Snape again, but she wasn’t taking chances. She wrote a carefully worded note, addressed specifically to Harry. Modifying her appearance similar to her trip to Diagon Alley, her Weasley disguise she dubbed it, she Flooed back to the public owlery on the corner in Diagon Alley. There was a specific Auror tip address, but she by-passed it, preferring to send it directly to Harry’s desk.

After, Hermione had decided to change into her jumper and one of the more comfortable skirts that didn’t clash too terribly. Banishing the rest of her disguise, she braved their common room. Snape was sitting in one of the chairs, a book propped across his lap, black trousers and black frockcoat buttoned to the neck and wrists, the cuffs coming low over his hands, black hair falling over his face. Hermione didn’t say anything, merely crossed to the shelf with their calendar and notes. They were finally into the second week of August.

“Oh!” Hermione jumped into her notes, her fingers flipping quickly through pages.

August 10th was ringing bells. Flipping through her notes, she found the evidence of what she had been looking for. August 9th was when the Ministry had accepted her book lending spell, but the 10th was when the Wizarding Library of London accepted it and that was what had mattered.

Taking her wand out, Hermione quickly spelled the few papers on the bottom shelf into a pile so the shelf cleared. Weaving her wand in and out, she cast the spell to request the shelf be registered, crossing her fingers and praying it worked. Sure enough, a small notebook and quill appeared in the center of the shelf. She leapt for the quill and scribbled the few words necessary into the book.

“What is that?” Snape asked from behind her making her jump.

“Don’t do that,” Hermione hissed, wiping at the ink splatter from the quill that had landed on her hand, hissing and cursing as she realized there was a spot on her jumper. “Fuck, this is my only jumper. It’s a spell I invented. We now have access to the entirety of the Wizarding Library of London from the comfort of our home. Your home. Rooms. Anyway. Nice and easy, right?

“Shelf 31?” he asked, reading over her shoulder.

“I figured, generic name, just the number of the registered shelf. Wouldn’t do to catch people’s attention,” Hermione said, her gaze still on her sleeve as she rubbed at the ink, smearing it. She cursed again.

“Even though you signed your name to it?” Snape asked, drawing his wand out slowly enough that Hermione barely noticed.

“I don’t think anyone would blink at Hermione Granger having more than one shelf, would you?” she said, leaving it to go to the bathroom to scrub at her new stain.

“It would certainly raise less flags than if Severus Snape opened a shelf, wouldn’t it?” she called over her shoulder.

When Hermione returned, she was only wearing her scoop-necked, long-sleeved tee and skirt. Her jumper was now drying in her room, the shirt underneath was enough for now with the fresh fire warming the room. Shelf 31 had four books on it, next to the check-out notebook. Snape was sitting, a new tome out on his lap that seemed to have seen more dust than readers. The fire was now crackling cheerfully, and Daniel had laid out their dinner on the larger table.

Hermione peered over his shoulder, disappointed when she couldn’t make out more than few of the words. Snape idly turned the page, brushing gently at the revealed words, stirring a bit of the dust onto the floor. Shrugging, even though he couldn’t see, she passed him to sit at their table, helping herself a bit to the dishes that Daniel had laid out. It took her a few bites to see he wasn’t joining her. Looking up, she saw him, seemingly lost in thought and staring slightly to her left. She took another bite.

“I didn’t know that you could read Goblin,” she said finally, breaking the silence, and hopefully bringing his attention to the fact that their dinner had arrived.

Black eyes immediately flicked to her, finally taking in her seated at the table. Snape sighed, hefting the book and setting it aside on the chair as he vacated it. Walking over, he helped himself to some of the cold meat and cheese, as well as the roasted vegetables that Hermione herself was happily enjoying.

“I studied it in my spare time,” Snape said, sitting and shaking his hair briefly back out of his face. “It proved useful later on. Goblins have a very fascinating history of using magic to keep things safe, more so in centuries past. Honestly, as safe as Gringotts is, their ancestors would doubtlessly have laughed. When their clans went to war with each other in the 1400s, that’s when the protection of property was in its prime. No one went through the trouble of translating most of their records though, just enough to record the effect their war had on the wizarding community.”

Hermione snorted and then said, her voice laden with sarcasm, “I am remarkably unsurprised.”

“Indeed,” Snape said, his smile more of a smirk.

That seemed to end the rest of their conversation for the evening, though thankfully the tension that was present before had been completely eliminated. She even went to sleep with a light heart, almost certain that the comfortable environment would lend to no nightmares, for at least one night, despite spying and plotting against a Death Eater. Unfortunately, her hopes were in vain. After Snape had vacated their bathroom, she had taken a quick shower and readied for bed. No sooner had her head hit the pillow, Hermione was thrown violently into another dream, turning swiftly into a nightmare.

She was in a field, the edges of which were foggy and hazy in the way that only made sense in a dream. Suddenly, she was surrounded, monstrous shapes, bulging arms, spikes on some shoulders, some squat, some towering, all covered in robes of black with silver faces that she couldn’t seem to focus on. Some of the figures shifted into people she knew, Lucius Malfoy in his prime, Bellatrix was there before she vanished again, and the most recurring face in these dreams, Voldemort himself.

Suddenly two figures appeared, another black covered, silver monster, dragging a blonde angel by its tattered and bloody wings. With a toss, the angel was thrown into the center of the circle, the wings vanishing, the crumpled figure becoming a young woman, still blonde, still bloody, wearing a white sundress.

“I brought this thing as tribute my Lord,” the monster said, smoothing away to become Rookwood covered in a black robe, a silver mask lazily dangling from his fingertips. “I figured it a humble gift to our brother who has finally returned to us. I even began bloodying the mudblood for him, though I wonder if his…tastes are the same as before. Certainly his…”

His words dissolved and suddenly she was standing, looking down at the woman at her feet. The woman tried to stand, but fell, her ankle twisted at a painful angle. She looked up at Hermione, tears leaving streaks through the caked blood on her cheek. Blue eyes, shining through even the one bloodshot eye. Hermione drew her wand even as her mind screamed that this wasn’t possible, pleading with her own hand to drop, to save her.

The first swish of her wand opened a red line on the girl’s arm as she feebly tried to block the hurt she knew was coming. Hermione was mentally sobbing for once her emotions and her dream self’s emotions in complete agreement even though her arm didn’t falter from its grim duty. Her head wouldn’t look away. Line after line appeared, cutting deeper and deeper, each line splashing with an unrealistic amount of blood before the final stroke opened her inner thigh and the fountain of crimson spilled out and onto the floor where she now lay like a crumpled doll.

Hermione approached, the girl’s frantic small breaths losing their strength as she looked down on her. Her eyelids were fluttering like an insect in a jar, frantic, desperate, dying. She swore she could see her last breath.

“You ssee Rookwood,” Voldemort’s voice, still so snake-like in his new body, “He iss sstill loyal to usss.”

Hermione looked back at him, meeting those red eyes, looking away from the now still corpse on the floor in front of her. It was enough time, so that when she looked back the girl had changed. Gone was the angelic blonde with blue eyes in a white sundress. Instead, she saw herself, in the recognizable blue jumper and jeans from the day they had fled Rowle, covered in blood, injuries matching the blonde’s, crazy brown hair in a matted and bloody halo around her face on the floor.

Hermione woke up with a shout, sweat beaded around her hairline. Her heart was thundering so loud, she felt in in her temples, heard in her ears, her eyes blinking in the dim light to orient herself. She was safe. She was safe. She was safe. Her self-comforting not doing anything to help herself. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream again. She was better than this. A noise made her jump so violently that her entire body left the bed for an instant.

Carefully looking up in the dim light, a small red light appeared in the corner of the door that she used to enter their joint bathroom, indicating that Snape had entered. She didn’t hear much beside a small noise that was the toilet flushing. Turning on her side, she debated getting up to see if he would be in the common room. Her heart was now calming, but the nightmare was still replaying itself in her mind and she couldn’t seem to stop. She drew her knees into her chest, curling into a ball under the covers, trying to stop the tremors still shaking her. What happened next shocked her even more than her suspicions being confirmed. Her door opened.

Snape’s dark form appeared, closing the bathroom door behind him so silently that if she hadn’t been watching, she wouldn’t have even woken up. Silently, he moved across the room and through the archway leading down into his potions lab.

Hermione sat up. Knowing now, more than ever, was the moment to confront him about this, she stood. Throwing her robe and slippers on as quickly as possible with her hands still shaking, she hesitated at the archway. Turning back, she took her wand from her bedside table and palmed it for a minute. When she finally descended the stairs, her mind was reciting shield charms just in case. Thankfully, she needn’t have bothered.

Snape was standing facing her on the opposite side of one of the work tables, barely able to be seen because all of the firepits were cold and the only light came from the spelled bar on the far wall. He had already amassed ingredients strewn in piles on the surface of the table. He had thrown a white collared shirt on, though it had clearly been in haste. The buttons were not aligned correctly and there were three of the tiny buttons open to show a small amount of his upper chest. The tails of the shirt hung over the band of his black trousers and the shirtsleeves had been roughly pushed up to his elbows. His black hair was disheveled, matted on one side and half tucked behind his right ear. Hermione was surprised to see old, decrepit headphones connected to a CD player keeping the hair back from his face.

He turned with his back to her, holding the player to grab supplies from one of the cabinets. Turning back around, his eyes flicked up and he swore something unintelligible, dropping the player to the ground with a loud smack and clatter, the headphones pulled forward and off his head, wand half raised from his pocket.

“Bloody fucking hell, Granger,” he hissed, pressing his left hand to his chest, his right arm tight at his side after jamming his wand back into his pocket.

Snape shook his hair forward into his face before ducking to retrieve the player and headphones, replacing the disk inside before Hermione could see what it was. He put it carefully onto his work table, brushing a clean spot for it. His hands gripped the table and he seemed to be doing a good job of making it look like he wasn’t deliberately avoiding eye contact with her as he started lining up the ingredients again. Hermione decided that the only way to begin this conversation was to jump right in.

“Had a nightmare?” she asked quietly, tucking her wand into her pocket.

At that he grunted, a quick flick of his wand sending sparks to the firepit nearest him and the sudden light made her wince. If possible, the sudden light was even less flattering for him than the dim light before. His face was the most open that she had seen. The scowl firmly trenched in the sides of his mouth, anger mostly about being startled if she had any guess. His breathing at least had returned to normal and he looked angry, no longer as if he was about to have a heart attack.

“At this point, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Shape said finally. “Would you like to help prepare ingredients?”

Hermione was confused for a moment at what seemed to be an abrupt change of topic until she looked closer. The ingredients were familiar to her, but it took a moment to place the potion. When she did, she wasn’t surprised. Dreamless Sleep had been used by many of her acquaintances after the war. She took the offer, taking a silver knife and the bundled purple root to a chopping board.

“Was it Rookwood in your dream?” Hermione asked, looking up to gauge his reaction and sure enough his hands flinched slightly.

“I really do not see how that is any of your business,” he said quietly, pouring the base liquid into the pewter cauldron in front of him.

“It is actually,” Hermione said, making him look up for the first time since she had descended the stairs. “Was the blonde Muggleborn real?”

Nothing could have prepared him for her comment. Snape recoiled so violently that he dropped the brass weights he had been about to set on the scale. As she watched, Hermione saw him build his walls back up in an instant, a sense of coldness filling the room as his eyes deadened, the life bleeding out as she watched, before she carefully turned to look at her.

“How. Did you know that,” the words came out slow and heavy, as if dragged from him. His voice was deadened, so devoid of emotion that it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Hermione swallowed, easing the blade back down to her cutting board. Even though Snape had made no threats or attempts to intimidate her, her heart was now racing almost as badly as when she had awoken earlier with the memory of his nightmare burned into her brain. Snape’s reactions confirmed what she had reasoned was the only explanation for the strange dreams that she had been having. She had no idea how comfortable they had become together until this moment. The restrained violence in his voice was terrifying, matched only by the incident when he had slammed her against the wall in the tent.

“I’ve been having dreams, nightmares, since we got here,” Hermione said, her voice soft and as placating as she could possibly make it. “Most I would forget, and after I went back to sleep it didn’t seem real. But a few times, what I did remember, didn’t make sense. I started remembering and exercising my old talent at lucid dreaming and that didn’t help. I couldn’t control them, but at least I started remembering that they didn’t make sense. The emotions were wrong, but even though I felt them, I knew they weren’t what I was feeling. And then tonight…”

As she spoke, Hermione watched Snape both getting more tense and yet relaxed at the same time. He no longer had an icy and untouchable quality, but he had shifted positions and was now gripping the table with white knuckles and tense shoulders. It briefly occurred to Hermione that this was the most honest, physically, that she had ever seen him react, hallucinations notwithstanding.

“Shared dreams,” he said finally.

Hermione watched, the comment hanging in the air between them. The tenseness in his shoulders and arms only breaking when a chime sounded prompting Snape to push the cauldron on to the heat. He eased the tension in his shoulders slightly, relaxing.

“That was my guess eventually as well,” Hermione said, carefully starting to slice the root once again, giving Snape as much privacy as she could to collect himself.

“You didn’t think to tell me earlier,” Snape said, shockingly calm, his voice still retaining some of the deadness that she found so disturbing before.

“I wanted to be sure,” Hermione said, before she added with an attempt to lighten the mood, “Besides, with your mood in the mornings I doubt that you would have responded well if I told you that I was dreaming what you were.”

She risked a peek over to see Snape’s mask crack slightly, a small smirk appearing in the corner of his mouth. Truthfully, she was a bit surprised to see herself teasing someone that still managed to be so threatening. The atmosphere lightened however and she didn’t fear for her life when she brought the precisely cut root in a small corner on of his workspace. Reaching for the jar of wings that she needed to powder, his hand shot out and held it down. Hermione froze, immediately taking a step back when she realized how close she had gotten to him. For a moment, all she could do was stare at the long fingers holding the jar down before she blinked, looking up at his face. What she could see through his hair was masked, his eyes were shrouded, staring at the jar as if it could give him answers.

“Go to sleep,” he said roughly, humanity bleeding his voice again, blinking and then looking at her. “This should take hours yet. There’s no need for us both to be awake.”

Hermione would have questioned or pestered further if it had been either Harry or Ron, but she had learned. Mostly from experience and talks with Ginny. She shouldn’t push. She doubted he wanted her in bed for her own benefit, it was for his. Hermione looked down, realizing that her hand was slowly spinning her ring around again. Nodding, she turned to leave. When she got to the stairs she stopped and turned back.

“You never answered before,” Hermione said softly. “Was she real?”

Snape froze for such a brief moment she almost missed it before continuing to count wings carefully into the mortar. His shoulders slumped a bit slightly before he nodded marginally.

“That happened?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded. “Why?”

Snape started grinding the wings. For a moment, Hermione thought he was going to ignore her. She tucked her hands under her arms, shivering a bit as she waited to see if he would respond. It didn’t seem that he would, but then again he hadn’t dismissed her yet. If anything, the past few months had shown that he was perfectly capable of that if he wished.

“Rookwood fulfilled a role similar to mine,” Snape said finally, so quietly Hermione had to listen as hard as she could. “His spying covered other areas. The Dark Lord had no reason to doubt him. His…extracurricular activities…were something that entertained him to no end. Certainly nothing that would be condoned by the Light. Whereas I, with my safe job in Hogwarts, being surrounded by former Order members, answering to Dumbledore…”

Snape stopped. Hermione continued for him, “You had to prove yourself.”

Hermione watched him swallow hard, struggling. She wondered, not for the first time tonight, why he was telling her any of this. It was certainly out of character. A part of her tensed when she thought of the other implications. If he was talking about this, it was most likely because he needed to do it. If he needed to do it, she was staying here all night if needs be to help him get it out. Eventually, he nodded again.

“It was not the first time, or even the worst, death that I have been responsible for,” he said slowly, his hands finally pausing. “It was the first death I caused after his return. It…was harder, afterward, than the first war’s casualties had been. After the Dark Lord fell the first time I had…”

He stopped, scowling, clearly at war with himself for telling her any of this. His hands clenched around the mortar and pestle. Whatever had made him seem inhuman before was now almost completely gone, the mask dropped in favor of the clear disgust that Hermione guessed was directed at himself.

“There were things that I had to do that I am not proud of. Most I despise. It didn’t matter that I was doing it under orders. Dumbledore didn’t want to know the details about how I had to worm my way back in, it only mattered that I did. And then, after all of it,” Snape said, the anger in his voice leaking in.

Snape stopped, his voice almost breaking at the end. His muscles strained and it looked like he was going to throw the pestle down, barely restraining himself and slamming it down to the table with a bang. He sighed, the tension easing a bit more, the anger bleeding out almost as quickly as it had gathered. At least whatever had made him so foreign, apathetic, cold, and unfeeling, was gone. Why that was she wasn’t sure, but she was grateful.

“Go to bed,” he said finally in the silence. He started measuring the powdering wings to the base in the heated cauldron, stirring it in with his free hand as he did so.

Hermione nodded, before turning away. She stopped with one foot on the stair, before turning back. She wasn’t able to even look at him, studying the stones on the floor with great interest instead.

Speaking up, before she lost her nerve, Hermione said, “Thank you. I know that people doubted you. Everyone did. For my part of it, I’m sorry. I know that the things you had to do were awful and enough to fill anyone’s head with nightmares. So… on behalf of everyone, thank you. We wouldn’t have been able to win the war without you. If I’ve learned anything about you in the post-war research, it’s how much the free wizarding world is truly in your debt and how many more deaths would have happened without your assistance. And they’ll never know precisely to whom they are indebted. Thank you.”

With that, Hermione turned back to the stairs and fled, careful not to look back. As she jogged up the stairs, she untied the dressing gown, tossing it onto the bed as she entered the room. Kicking off her slippers, she quickly slipped under the covers which hadn’t even fully grown cold.

Sleep was still a long way off. She had woken up cleanly from the nightmare which meant she unfortunately remembered every moment. Snape had seen the Death Eaters as the monsters they were, but the words spoken were undoubtedly accurate. She tried to imagine what it had been like, to have to kill someone who looked like a broken angel, just to rejoin a league of devils, so that the only condolence was to have your enemies accept you and your allies mistrust you. To have to continue to perform countless acts of evil, torture, and murder, just to be able to maybe feed useful information that could save a few lives.

The tears that started streaming from her eyes, down her face, and into her hair and the pillow below didn’t surprise her. She remembered all that Ginny, Luna, and Neville had told her from their year at Hogwarts when Snape had been Headmaster. All the things that had gone on, the rules, the tortures, all with Snape’s supervision. But all the while, he was being tortured by Voldemort as he grew madder towards the end. She was sure of it. Mainly because of the small things that the creature of her nightmares had been whispering in her ear as she had writhed on the floor of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione’s body started to tremble with sobs that she didn’t try to fight, merely to silence, as she turned on her side. If that nightmare of a memory had been his re-initiation, she didn’t want to know the rest. Her heart ached for him in a way that she hadn’t known it could, somehow hurting more now than it had when she had watched him hallucinating in the thralls of the Mors withdrawal. Somehow, as real as it had seemed to him, it had seemed less real to her. Being in his mind, feeling what he had felt, Hermione shuddered, even as the sobs quieted. She couldn’t imagine doing that. She certainly couldn’t see how he had done it as long as he had. How had he remained sane?

Roughly, Hermione swiped at her eyes. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate her crying for him. Trying to quiet her mind so she could sleep was difficult. The hour dragged on as she tried to sleep, hoping vainly that maybe Snape would at least finish the potion quickly so she could see he would be going to bed. She lost the fight not too much later, never having seen him come up. Her last thought was remembering that Dreamless Sleep only took her about an hour to brew at the longest.

The next morning when Hermione woke, her throat and eyes were dried out. They were also probably red, she thought as she struggled to blink moisture into her eyes, just like they always were when she had had a good cry. Squinting in the light, it took her a moment to realize what was different. The light flooding her room now was from a window that had definitely not been there before and she was almost certain that it would have been a physical impossibility from their location in the castle anyway.

Suddenly, like a child at Christmas, Hermione threw off her covers and stumbled out of bed at a half-run to the window. The morning light was cresting between a grove of trees over the rolling green hills. Off to the left, she could make out cliffs that seemed to drop off sharply into a coastline. The shock of blue water almost made her want to cry with both happiness and relief. She had no idea how much she had missed seeing the sky and the sun during the day. The occasional outing in disguise really didn’t compare to knowing that the entire world was still alive and active around her.

“Does Miss Granger like it?” a small voice came from behind her.

Hermione whirled around. Either Daniel was either the quietest and sneakiest house elf she had ever known or she had been far too distracted by daylight in her window. She knelt solemnly down in front of the house elf. He was grinning shyly, his ears perked up in a manner that she associated with small dogs who were very excited, even though he seemed like he was trying not to show it. She took his small hands in hers with a wide and open smile.

“I love it, thank you very much,” Hermione said, trying to put the emotion into her words that she felt.

Hermione watched a bit of pink color his otherwise pale cheeks before he disappeared. Standing, she brushed off her pajama pants before going to the wardrobe. Today, she decided on a rose colored skirt and an ivory blouse, foregoing the “matching” jacket that had the demure rose color on the color and cuffs, but was otherwise an obnoxious color of bright fuchsia. Taming her hair after a rough night of sleep proved absolutely impossible unless she was willing to devote over thirty minutes to it, so she settled for twisting most of it into a knot at the nape of her neck, quite a few curls springing free on her forehead and around her temples.

As she sat to breakfast, Hermione spared a glance towards the suspiciously empty bin near the entrance to their rooms and then to the door leading to Snape’s rooms. She doubted that Daniel had stopped giving the man “thoughtful” gifts that he proceeded to destroy, so there was a possibility that he simply hadn’t woken yet. There was an equally plausible possibility that he hadn’t left the potions lab last night. She almost choked on her piece of toast, now definitely determined to never change in her bedroom again.

“Daniel?” she called out quietly after more minutes of almost complete silence had passed.

The house elf immediately appeared at her elbow, rocking back and forth on his toes.

“Yes Miss? Was there something I could do for you?”

“Has Headmaster Snape woken yet?” she asked, desperately hoping for her sanity that he at least had made it to his bedroom last night.

Daniel looked slightly uncomfortable, before he shook his head, his ears flopping around his face. Hermione frowned slightly when she realized she recognized something about the gesture and wasn’t able to place it. He seemed to be growing more concerned, hiding slightly behind his large ears, and with a start she realized he was probably responding to her frown.

“Do you know when he was to sleep?” Hermione asked finally, realizing that there was a small possibility that he wouldn’t answer. Most house elves had a very strong opinion on whether or not to share information about the wizards or witches they served.

Daniel’s eyes flicked nervously to the bedroom of said wizard, before worrying his hands together. She watched the inner struggle carefully before he whispered, “About five hours ago Miss.”

Hermione smiled and he mirrored the expression slightly. She hadn’t had the pleasure of working with many of the Hogwarts elves before, the one incident nonwithstanding, in addition to her work with S.P.E.W., though in general they seemed to be very content and relatively worry free. She only seemed to notice now that Daniel seemed more worn, darker skin and lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. A loud crash interrupted her thoughts, making Daniel jump. Then came the tell-tale signs of something large being demolished.

“Why do you do that when you know he dislikes them so much?” Hermione whispered to him, now knowing that there was a conscious Severus Snape about who liked people talking about him even less than he liked talking about himself.

Daniel seemed to be more cautious than her. A carafe that held orange juice from breakfast lifted in the air, pouring the liquid into the air between them. As Hermione watched, the juice separated and formed words written in front of her.

_Anger is easier than others._

Hermione started, looking into the eyes of the smaller person in front of her and suddenly began wondering a whole new list of questions. Suddenly she seemed very sure about the reason for the elf’s shadows around his eyes. There was suddenly no humor in his eyes and the larger eyes seemed to hold more sorrow and worry than any that she had ever seen. Abruptly, he disappeared, taking the juice and carafe with him, startling her until she saw Snape’s door open.

‘Snape was back’ was the first thought she had at seeing the impressive man in the doorway, magically towing a mass of destruction behind him. Flicking his wand, the mess flew across the room and into the bin with a loud bang of broken wood and a clang that was decidedly parts metal and music. As it settled, she also heard a crash of glass as he released the magic and it fell the rest of the way in.

Striding to the table, Snape sat with a slight flourish. The shadows under his eyes that she had begun to associate with his mornings were now significantly improved upon. She helped herself to some fruit as she watched him reach for scrambled eggs. The black frockcoat and trousers were back in full force, their midnight conversation seemingly like just another, very lucid, dream.

“The suspense is killing me,” he drawled finally, cradling his coffee and then taking another sip before looking up at her.

Hermione smirked, “You assume I have something to say or a question to ask?”

“Don’t mind my assumption, I am merely operating from years of experience with a perpetually raised hand,” Snape said, turning his attention back to his coffee.

His response startled a laugh from her, but decided that she surprisingly didn’t need to ask questions just yet. She wanted to do more research first. As she chewed a strawberry, she realized she did have quite a bit to go on. She had a gut instinct that somehow this incident was connected to how she had been able to manipulate his magic when she had been healing him from Mors withdrawal. By all accounts, she shouldn’t have been able to do it. That was where she would start researching at any rate. Going for a piece of melon, she looked up and realized that Snape was staring now, openly.

“What?” she asked, self-conscious suddenly.

“Perhaps I was not as thorough as I should have been when I was questioning your identity,” Snape said finally.

If it had been Ron, she might have stuck her tongue out, but as it was she just laughed again. Suddenly a thought occurred to her, tilting her head slightly to the side. She watched him sip his coffee before his eyes flicked up and then narrowed suspiciously.

“Did you have any thoughts as to why the shared dreaming occurred?” Hermione asked, popping a strawberry in her mouth with a grin.

“I had several theories that I dismissed before I seemed to have found really the only one with any promise,” Snape said, sitting back in his chair, cradling the mug between his hands as his elbows can to rest on the chair’s arms. “Several involved something happening during the rip in time and somehow during the occurrence a transfer between us was affected. The most probable I think would be somehow during your treatment of me while directly interacting with my magic. Shared dreaming is not an impossibility, though it is rare, if not impossible for it to occur by accident.”

“That was my working theory as well,” Hermione said, sitting back herself, forgetting about the food as she listened to him speak.

“And yet you did not share your theory just now,” he said.

“You inferred I had something to say,” Hermione retorted. “I didn’t. At least not yet. I wanted to do some research before bringing up the idea. Especially now that I have the means.”

Snape snorted, the mug clicking as he reached forward to deposit it down on the table, “Imagine my surprise,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Don’t be rude,” Hermione said, not cowed anymore, missing the small surprise on his face as she stood, finished with breakfast, and walked over to the shelf. “I did have some questions about that theory. Would you have been able to block the connection at all?”

“There are many ways to block a mental or magical connection, but I assure you none of them are done without consciously being aware of it. Why do you ask?” he asked.

Hermione wrote a few of her book requests down as she carefully thought how best to formulate her answer, “Well, the nightmares that I remembered being strange I almost discounted because after I fell back to sleep the dreams were normal. As such, the dreams I remembered most vividly were the ones right before I woke, and they were completely mine. Was there anything different that you did when you went back to sleep?”

Silence greeted her when she turned back around. Snape was just staring at her. Hermione stared back, setting the quill down without looking. Realization hit her rather abruptly and it was hard to keep the emotions from her face. He had never gone back to sleep. After a night with Dreamless Sleep, supposedly the best sleep one could get after being completely exhausted, he had slept only five hours. Which probably meant that on his nights previously he had survived on three to four and coffee. Hermione grimaced and turned back to the shelf.

“Humans need more than five hours of sleep per night,” Hermione said, relieved when one of the healing texts she would need for later appeared. It would be safer for her to hold on to it.

“I believe I am living proof that this is not actually the case,” came the snarky comment from the table.

“It’s a miracle you’re still alive then,” Hermione snapped quickly back, before biting her lip and realizing who she had made the comment to.

Snape seemed to take it in stride though when he replied, “Very true, though I highly doubt my sleeping habits have anything to do with it.”

“True,” Hermione said as she approached the table, allowing her comment to be brushed aside gratefully. As if her approaching with a book was a signal, Hermione’s side of the table cleared.

“I don’t really know where to start with this, did you have any suggestions?” she asked, propping the book before her.

“Well I do believe that you had other pressing matters to attend to before we tackle this little medical mystery, do you not?” Snape asked, setting his mug down to refill it, still leaving the food untouched.

“Hm?” Hermione said, looking up from the table of contents replaying the conversation in her head quickly, “Oh! Right, of course.”

Standing, she left the book and quickly went to collect the notebook she had managed to keep with her from the tent. Rookwood had been over relatively quickly. The search hadn’t taken long, thankfully, and the situation at the bar had been quickly resolved. Snape’s performance had rattled her a bit, that was true, mainly because of its brilliance. He had been interested, sympathetic, confidant, as he pushed Rookwood into drinking more than he should while remaining sober with Hermione’s assistance with refilling drinks, while acting more and more drunk. When he had “helped” him home, with Hermione following from a safe Disillusioned distance. She had understood the Obliviate afterwards, but not the wicked grin. He had explained as the made their way to the nearest shop with an accessible Floo.

“Rookwood was the perfect example of a ‘pinnacle of society’ abuser. His disguise was perfect, affable, approachable. In public. In private he had his own series of torture chambers. He had a trigger which only a few knew about. You could not insinuate that he was homosexual. I think with a very real reason that he detested all homosexuals was because he was truly tempted by his own tendencies. To the best of my considerable knowledge, he never gave in. He did however carve his feelings into flesh, painting them with blood, pain, and anguish. I simply…Gave him memories of things that didn’t happen. Between me,” he gestured to his Polyjuiced form, “and him. Born of loneliness and alcohol.”

Hermione had gaped at him in astonishment as he had chosen that moment to open the door and wave her through. The self-satisfied smirk made her almost angry though.

“You…you what?” she sputtered.

“If he is committed for the rest of his life or if they give him the Kiss in four days, he will torture himself until his last day over that memory. That is a victory and justice that no Auror could understand much less met out,” he said, the last bit said with a touch of personal triumph.

“You mentally,” Hermione hushed her voice, eyes darting about as they dodged patrons of the store, “you mentally raped him!”

The last was said whispered, but Snape heard and his eyes flashed with anger before handing her a jar of Floo powder, dropping two knuts in the dish for them using it. “No Hermione,” he whispered back vehemently, “Rookwood raped. Believe me when I say I gave him pleasant and willing memories. There is nothing similar. If you had seen his hidden victims, you would understand.”

Now they would be looking for someone new. Scanning her book, there were two names that had been captured so easily that Harry had mentioned them in addition to Rookwood. Selwyn and Dolohov.

“Selwyn was found hog-tied, at the tip location in early September,” Hermione said, coming back to the table and sitting with her notebook. “I had the Prophet article saved in the portfolio in the tent from when they announced his capture. The date was the ninth, I think, but he was captured before the official announcement was made. Harry didn’t remember the specifics.”

Snape snorted a bit derogatively, but Hermione ignored him. Setting the book before her, she sat back. He seemed way too calm. At least with Rookwood, there had been planning, spying, stalking, and frankly a large amount of legwork. He seemed much too calm.

“You don’t seem as concerned about him as you did with Rookwood,” she commented.

“Rookwood was a spy. He was shifty, paranoid, but he still had a certain amount of refuse that could be tracked to his location. Capturing him at his home would have been near impossible, but some haunts of his past would be difficult for him to completely part with,” he said. “Selwyn however was almost always an idiot. If he hasn’t been captured, it is almost certainly because the Auror office has no clue where to start looking.”

“Which is the point of all of this,” Hermione said dryly.

“You miss the point. He should have been taken easily. I guarantee you that he is alternating between three different locations. If he hasn’t been caught yet it is because they haven’t found them. I highly doubt he has even changed those locations,” Snape said, “He was a creature of habit. He hasn’t changed.”

“You say that as a fact,” Hermione said, “How can you be sure?”

“I am not wrong,” Snape said, staring her down.

“And if you are?” Hermione said, leaning forward.

“I am not,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

“If you are, you have to wear something red,” Hermione said, grinning.

“And if I’m right?” Snape said, a bit of humor leaking into his voice.

Hermione frowned, realizing that she probably was digging herself in fairly well, but all she needed was one of three locations to have changed in five years of being hunted by Aurors and who knew who else. They were odds in her favor, because Harry’s fellows couldn’t have been doing nothing for five years. Biting her lip, she thought.

“What do you want if you’re right?” Hermione asked, phrasing it carefully so she wasn’t committed yet.

A shadow passed quickly over his face, but passed. Its appearance at all though made her nervous. He sat long enough in silence before the entire idea made her very, very nervous. Just when she was going to open her mouth and say what a stupid idea it had been, before the side of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile.

“Then you have to color every item in your wardrobe green for a week,” Snape said.

“Fine,” Hermione said, somewhat relieved.

Smirking, Snape stood. “I trust you’ll be ready to leave in fifteen minutes? Bottles two for Polyjuice?”

“Really?” Hermione said, standing herself. “I mean, yes. Yes, of course.”

Snape nodded, before retreating into his bedroom and closing the door. Hermione shrugged as she went into her own room. He was confident that was for sure. They were starting off so quickly after resolving Rookwood.  That much confidence probably meant that she was going to lose the bet too. She had no idea what had possessed her. It had felt good though, treating him like a friend. Hermione leaned back against her now closed bedroom door, shocked. Did she think of him as a friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still do not have a beta-reader to also serve as a nag, if anyone is up for the job please let me know. All mistakes are mine! A bit dizzying with so many plot elements to follow, but some answers and more questions next chapter!


	17. The Wager

_Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. - Albus Dumbledore_

 

Hermione wished desperately that she had brought a book.  Stakeouts were undoubtedly the most boring and tiresome thing that she had ever done, and that included once actually trying to do her divination homework.  Adjusting her skirts, Hermione shifted slightly on the bench, grateful that it was shaded.  Checking her watch, she took another, horrible, swallow of Polyjuice. 

The house that Snape had told her to watch was raised slightly on a hill on the outskirts of the town.  Well, not the house itself.  She was supposed to look to the side of the house, where the single chimney was.  Apparently, that was where she would be looking for Selwyn.  If he was to appear at all.  Hermione idly turned her ring on her finger as she scowled, looking about.  It was probably good that she hadn’t actually brought a book.  She would have made a poor look-out that way.  Sighing, she leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, still looking at her post.

Most of the wizarding town around her didn’t pay her any mind.  Considering she looked at her watch all too often, she probably just looked stood-up.  Hermione shifted, paced occasionally, walked to the edge of the clearing before the hill.  The day passed more slowly than she would have thought possible.  Her only condolence was that there were rains predicted in northern France where Snape was currently on watch.  It was worth the slight chill that somehow permeated August in Northern Ireland.  

Noon came and passed, her pockets providing lunch from Daniel and still more Polyjuice and still there was nothing.  As she sat back on her bench, brushing the remainder of the crumbs from her croissant off her skirts, Hermione gave in to the thoughts that had been plaguing her since the early morning.  They had left in such a rush that Daniel had not really been able to elaborate on her suspicions very much, though it was clear the elf had them as well.

Snape wasn’t sleeping, that much was clear.  He was jumpy, slightly paranoid, and emotionally had the range of the full Richter scale, hitting all the points, seemingly at random.  It was enough to make her paranoid.  His inability to sleep might have been fixed, but she was still nervous around him until she had a good enough gauge of where his mood was at any given day.  Then there was last night.

The only thing that she could possibly credit her remarks too was either her Gryffindor bravery, or her Golden Trio insanity.  Hermione gave a slightly self-deprecating laugh.  It was probably a healthy dose of both.  She had meant every word though.  Thinking of it now still made her eyes want to tear up.  They owed him.  Their lives, their freedom, probably more than they knew.  How much was a soul worth these days?  The war had surely taxed his to the point of breaking.

And then there was the other thing.  She had been far too emotional last night to be objective, but she was definitely now more curious than she had any right to be on what he had been listening to last night.  Muggle headphones?  A CD player?  Not only had his appearance been so completely at odds with her vision of him in her mind, it had been even more proof that no matter how close they had been living the past few months, she had truly no idea who he was.  Mulling it over more and more in her head, she kept trying to put together the latest pieces she had acquired into the overall puzzle that was Severus Snape and she could hardly make them fit. 

A sudden dangerous thought entered her mind as Hermione sat up from where she had been slowly hunching in boredom and exhaustion.  She could read his biographies.  It was her paranoid tendencies that had kept them in a pocket of her traveling robe and never unpacking them into the tent.  Her curiosity edged the idea further and further into her mind, no matter how much the logical side tried to argue it back.  She was still debating as she practically glared at her lookout spot, even as the light of the afternoon started to fade into evening.  A flash of light behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin as she palmed her wand in an instant.

“Meet at Floo point,” came the unmistakable voice.

The light source had been flickering and shifting so much that it hadn’t even fully formed before it had completely disappeared.  Standing, Hermione tucked her wand back in as she tried to calm her racing heartbeat.  Linking her fingers behind her neck, she rolled her head back against her hands, side to side, to try and get the rest of the stiffness and kinks out.  Suddenly, she groaned.  This must mean that Snape had spotted him.  After just one day. 

“Dammit,” Hermione cursed and then Apparated.

Walking into the inn, Hermione was relieved to see that she hadn’t completely forgotten what Snape’s new form looked like, even from the back.  The tall wizard that Snape was impersonating was standing, leaning on the bar that had been tucked into the corner of the small sitting area off to the right.  He must have said something funny, because the bartender was chuckling and shaking his head.

Snape now had long brown hair, shot through with copper that Snape had tied back from his face.  His skin had a healthy brown summer glow, dusted with darker birthmarks.  He had broad shoulders, a square chiseled jaw, a dusting of stubble, and blue green eyes.  All-together, Hermione swallowed as she approached, grateful that the bartender in the corner had drawn him into conversation, he was gorgeous and God did she hate having to admit that. She really, really, hated that she only had herself to blame because she had collected the hair samples.  She really should have been paying more attention.

As she approached, the bartender welcomed her with a beaming smile.  Hermione’s counterpart today was blonde, though generally had the same body shape, if a bit shorter and slightly wider around the hips.  She was older too, about mid-thirties, with the start of smile lines around her eyes and mouth, and a small gap in between her front teeth.  Her hair this time around was blessedly pin-straight and in an easy braid down her back. 

“An’ what can I get you ma’am?” the bartender asked her.

Hermione looked sideways to see Snape’s smirk marring the unfamiliar face.  The ascot that he had worn with his costume for the day was now a violently bright shade of emerald that had definitely had not been there this morning.  Hermione sighed disgustedly before turning to smile up at the bartender, and lifting her skirted self onto the nearest barstool.

“I’ll have a White Russian please,” she said, before adding darkly, “Light on the cream.  It would appear I’ve lost a bet.”

Snape let out a bark of laughter beside her, startling her slightly, though she refused to acknowledge him, instead giving the bartender all of her attention as he poured her drink.  Snape’s presence so close to her left elbow seemed to be larger and warmer then she remembered, as if she could sense his exact position even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“So, I would assume that you know Charlie here then?” the bartender asked, humor lightening his eyes as he gestured at Snape.

“You could assume that,” Hermione said dryly, accepting the drink he slid across to her with a smile.  “As well as a person can, I would also say you could assume.”

Snape surprised her by chuckling slightly, before drawling lazily, “Moira here would teach you not to believe a word I say.”

“As most women might,” the bartender said with a smile.  Looking past their shoulders, he smiled apologetically before excusing himself.

“So you’ve seen him then,” Hermione said darkly, sipping her drink and glaring at him.

Snape smirked again which was definitely starting to unnerve her.  It was bizarre to see the familiar expressions in the strange face.  No matter how undeniably attractive the strange face, it was so wrong it almost made her hair stand up.  It also made her madly start wishing he was wearing his own face instead.

“I have not,” he said, fixing his eyes on her in a perfect stare.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but only barely as she looked away.  Instead she sipped her drink and waited.  It was two more sips before she broke.

“Okay, then why the confidence?” she asked finally, her glass hitting the bar a bit harder than she had intended.  “Clearly you saw something.  I have no doubt that you would have stood out there all night if neither of us had seen anything.”

“I’ve narrowed down the search,” Snape said finally, sipping whatever amber liquid he had ordered before she had arrived.  “I’ve determined that he will be moving into either the location I sent you to or the third location because I believe him to be at mine.”

“And we can’t simply take him at that location?  And why are you sure?” Hermione asked.

“He moves on the 28th.  Always,” Snape said, chuckling darkly.  “As I said, that the Ministry has not yet caught him before is either stupidity or laziness and it is a toss-up as to which assertion is worse.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Hermione said, pointing at him with a finger from the same hand holding her drink.

“I’ve said he is an idiot.  His warders are not.  Even though he would trust no one to Secret Keep any of the locations, once his wards are in place it would be…nasty, to try and extract him.  Especially because it will be only us taking him this time,” Snape sighed, shaking his head as he bowed it, something making him scowl.  “Just rest assured, it will be easier to take him before the wards slam home.”

Suddenly humor darkened his eyes, the blue-green orbs looking at her with an expression that was scarily reminiscent of George Weasley.

“You did say hog-tied before, didn’t you?” Snape said dryly.

Hermione laughed as she nodded.

“Worth the trouble then,” he said decisively before knocking back the rest of his drink.  “Ready?”  Hermione nodded, taking another sip of her drink before leaving payment for it on the bar.  Standing, she followed him to the large fireplace and Flooing home.  It wasn’t until they were back in Hogwarts shaking ash and soot from her skirts that she realized that he hadn’t actually given her any proof.

It took about ten minutes or so for the Polyjuice to time out which left Hermione milling about her room and waiting for her body to adjust so that she would once again fit in her jeans and jumper.  She really shouldn’t have been surprised that their resident elf had restored everything to perfect condition, the ink splatter a vague memory. 

Once Hermione had changed, she exited her bedroom to their common room to find Snape sitting at the desk, lost in thought, idly turning a quill over a parchment laid out in front of him.  In spite of herself, she found herself smiling at the sight.  For whatever reason, the latest Polyjuice persona of the potions master made her very grateful to have the man before her back.

“What are you working on?” Hermione asked by way of announcing herself, crossing the room to the bookshelves, idly beginning to peruse the new titles that Snape had requested.

“I am simply listing our preparations,” he drawled lazily, sitting back in the chair and continuing to twist the quill around his fingers.  “This will involve more preparations than our last grab and tip operation.”

“How so?” Hermione asked when she looked back.  A tea set appeared on their table as she began to approach him and she smiled, detouring easily for her lavender chamomile and biscuits.

Snape stood and stretched while she poured.  Hermione elected to ignore the stare that she felt being directed her way.  Coffee appeared at the table practically on top of her own set, making her startle.  She tried to ignore the man’s approach as he was beckoned by his far safer addictive substance.  She barely suppressed a shiver as he stood next to her to pour his coffee.  She quickly moved to a chair by the fire with her saucer and cup, abandoning the biscuits for some space and sanity.

“I believe I see a distinct lack of green,” Snape said, drawing close once more.

Snape looked practically predatory as he stood above the chair she was sitting in.  Hermione frowned at him and tried to look dismissive as she looked away and towards the fire.  There was something diffent in the air around them and Hermione felt it both stifling and slightly terrifying.  For whatever reason, her adrenal glands thought best to respond by shooting up her adrenaline without so much as a damn by-your-leave and she really wished they would stop. 

“I believe I have not seen a whit a proof,” Hermione said, finally mustering courage enough to glare up at him, refusing to stand to toe-to-toe with him.  She didn’t need the height to feel equal or superior, but she did wish he would step back.  He had never been close enough for her to feel this…claustrophobic.  “And please sit, you’re making my neck uncomfortable.”

Snape sniffed, which was definitely impressive at this angle with his nose, muttering something low before stalking to his own chair and sitting, cradling his coffee in both hands.  Hermione tried not to, but her shoulders relaxed in something very close to relief.  It was easy to breathe again. She had no idea what had provoked that…power struggle or whatever it was, but she knew there had been something too deliberate, something challenging, and she had no idea if she had done something to warrant it or if she had been somehow tested.  She just hadn’t liked it.

“You’ll see all the proof necessary, I assure you.  I will also be definitely collecting on our bet, though I understand if you doubt too strongly to take my word as yet.  You can begin after we capture him,” Snape said, his voice strangely neutral after that little display.

Hermione sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust your word,” she said, shocked when she realized the truth of the assertion, though careful not to show how deep the trust now ran, “I just want to observe the terms of the wager.”

As she had been idly playing with her teacup, Hermione missed the bit of tension released around Snape’s shoulders.  He shifted slightly forward, drawing Hermione’s attention to him.  He seemed about to say something when the obnoxiously loud trills of classical music interrupted them.  A small clock, white and gold, was now loudly playing music to announce the four o’clock hour.  Hermione would have smiled, the music was pleasant, despite the volume, and familiar.  Apparently, Snape thought otherwise. 

Hermione practically had to duck as the clock went flying, still playing, past her head, and loudly into the bin near the door.  Snape stood, nostrils flaring, absolutely livid in his anger, as he stalked to the bin where the little clock was still trying very valiantly to play, silencing it permanently with a spell.  Stalking to his bedroom, he slammed the door hard behind him.

Chuckling slightly, Hermione relaxed back in her chair, resting the saucer on her lap as she cradled the cup in her hands, replaying the music.  She wasn’t getting it.  She hummed it out loud until she was able to add the words in her mind as she remembered.  Once she did she started giggling slightly.  The clock had been playing “Music of the Night”.  Daniel really did have a death wish.

Once Snape had gotten a hold of himself and reappeared for their evening meal, shockingly free of any floral or frilly arrangements, Snape showed her the list that he thought they would require.

“What is a bakshiri?” Hermione asked, taking another bite of potatoes as she skimmed ingredients.

“A highly deadly reptile from India,” Snape said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and sitting back in his chair.  “And partially responsible for my continued sanity.”

The last was muttered almost inaudibly and Hermione elected to ignore it.  A part of her didn’t want to know how bakshiri venom had in any way kept a man’s sanity.  It was the only item on the list that she hadn’t actually recognized on sight.  Everything else seemed to either factor into magical explosions and wards.

“The venom is a highly corrosive acid, very susceptible to exploding and eating through whatever it touches.  The bakshiri use it for defense, obviously, but also for carving their homes out of stone, clay, whatever it is they find,” Snape said, drawing Hermione out of the list by what seemed like a forthcoming lecture.  “Their preferred found sources are actually heavy stone, precious stones, though only after they have been cured by their venom.  It’s normally very easy to track them as their acid can easily eat through a foot of earth before losing potency.  They’re harder to find when they are still or no longer dripping venom because of their natural ability to block and hide magic.  Indian wizards have bred a rare form of canine that will track them though.”

“So what will we be using it for?” Hermione said, nerves creeping into her voice as she pictured acid eating through flesh.

“Flash bangs,” Snape said.

“Beg pardon?” Hermione asked, nearly putting the list down in her dish.

“The acid is only corrosive at a very specific temperature.  Other than that it is relatively harmless, though still very explosive,” Snape stood, moving to the chair by the fire, standing behind it and resting his arms on the back.

Hermione frowned.  He looked tired.  Not that it should surprise her at all.  Only one night of sleep wouldn’t have compensated for the weeks and months of nightmares.  Granted, she did have reason for surprise now.  He’d never let it show before.

“So the flash bangs will be the cover we need to move in?” she asked.

“Essentially yes,” Snape said, moving around and sitting with a sigh.  “As I said, Selwyn employed expert warders and he was paranoid.  He employs several devices that would alert him to wards around him that he hasn’t specifically authorized.  The trick of catching him is to slam Anti-Apparition wards home before he senses their set-ups around him.”

Snape leaned his head back against his chair, closing his eyes.  Hermione started getting nervous.  Something had felt so off and more emotional with him today and now he was actually seeming human and looking tired.  He hadn’t looked tired the day after he had been wracked by a grand mal seizure.  He continued talking from his relaxed position.

“The bakshiri venom in the flash bangs placed over dormant Anti-Apparition wards will allow us to spring the trap without alerting any of his damn clinking crystals,” Snape said, still without opening his eyes.

“Where are we going to set all this up?” Hermione asked, standing, abandoning the rest of her dinner.  She hadn’t needed the extra calories anyway.

“If we can’t narrow down which location, we’ll have to set both,” Snape said.

“Both?” Hermione asked, slightly aghast.  “How could we trigger the traps and then know which one worked?  The two of us wouldn’t be capturing him, one of us would.  And that person would be alone with no backup.  And then if you’re wrong,” angry eyes snapped open and glared, “I said if.  Then he would either be in one of our traps leaving only one of us fighting him and whoever he has with him, or worst he’s gone to a fourth location that you have no idea about.”

“I’m not wrong,” Snape said, a bite coming back into his voice.

“Why are you so sure?” Hermione pressed, walking closer.

“Because I am sure!” he said, his voice finally breaking the lethargic tone. 

“It’s been years since the war ended,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice calm despite the clearly growing anger in front her.

“And more years since the one before that ended!” Snape snapped, shooting to his feet.  “Believe me Hermione, I know.  I was there through both of them.  Before you start doubting, perhaps you should do all of the information gathering that I have done over the course of my lifetime, because, make no mistake. This. Has. Been. My. Life.  I am sure because Selwyn was one of my dedicated targets.  I know of all of his defenses because I helped to set them.  I fueled his paranoia to the direction that it went.  I know his secret places because while enforcing and testing his wards I made careful notes of all of the precautions that he made! DO NOT DOUBT ME!”

“It is not you that I’m doubting!” Hermione said, finally shouting now.  “It is the current time in which we are living!  How do you know he didn’t grow more paranoid and create a fourth or a fifth location in his rotations?  How-”

“Because I am sure!” Snape snapped, interrupting, no longer roaring at her, but damn close. “I knew enough of him and his type to know that in uncertain circumstances, such as having lost a bloody war, he wouldn’t take the risk.  As to burning the past locations, you haven’t had any word from him correct?  No run-ins?  I’m sure your extensive,” he said that with a curled sneer, “Research, would have shown him popping up.  Or a vacated safehouse.  Or-”

“Enough!” Hermione shouted back at him.  “Fine!  We go with your plan!”

Snape made a dismissive tsk-ing noise, throwing his hands up, stalking towards the fireplace and grabbing onto the mantle with white-knuckled fingers, all the tension that had been gone in the minutes before suddenly back with a vengeance.  Hermione just looked at him, breath still coming in pants of anger, her hands in fists at her sides.  She took deep breaths to calm herself down, forcing her hands to relax and then crossed them under her chest. 

For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of the fireplace crackling and the harsh sounds of both of them regaining their regular breathing.  Hermione finally sighed, shaking the tension from her arms and shoulders as she went back to the table to retrieve his list, looking over it until she walked back to where Snape was still standing motionless.

“Was this the whole list then?” Hermione asked, watching him take a breath before turning around, both arms going behind his back as he nodded.  “And there’s no spell or recipe or anything else we’ll need for these flash-bangs things?”

Snape snorted a small laugh before condescendingly tapping his temple, “The recipe for them has only ever been here.”

“Should have known.  Damn Slytherin,” Hermione said, faking the irritation she no longer felt.  His answering smirk was at least enough to know that both were forgiven their spat.

The next morning was just as the others had been, though Hermione was once again the first one in their common room, though clearly not the first awake from the sounds of joyful demolition going on in Snape’s bedroom.  Daniel appeared seconds after she walked in, winking at her from his perch on their table before he vanished and breakfast appeared.

After the bin had been filled once more and breakfast had been eaten by both of them, they donned their Polyjuice disguises and Flooed to Diagon Alley.  Hermione had to continuously try to keep angry at Snape for the absolutely purposeful change to his wardrobe, deep emerald robes that were almost black thrown over an equally emerald set of vest and trousers, an ivory colored shirt and an ascot like yesterday but with a garish addition of a snake curled into a knot as a pin tacking it down.  The irritation helped to keep her mind off of his once again striking physical form.  If she ran out of anger over his decidedly Slytherin wardrobe choices, she directed it inward at her stupidity for being the one responsible for his current face anyway.

As soon as the exited into the alley on the way to Slug and Jiggers, Hermione could feel the difference in the tension level in the man beside her.  Snape’s right arm was now locked to his side, his hand tucked into his large robe pocket.  He was as tense as a bowstring. As the shop door advertising second-hand robes slammed shut, she felt him flinch.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, but as she looked at his face she could tell he hadn’t heard her.  His eyes were squinting and taking in the entire street around him as best he could.

Moving in front of him, Hermione carefully touched his left arm.  Snape didn’t flinch so much as whip his head down to look at her.  The tendons in his neck stood out sharply from tension and from the close proximity, Hermione could see his pupils were blown out and dilated, something that was clearly seen against his new face’s blue-green eyes.  She was in the unique position to watch that change as he focused on her and the tension level lessened.  Snape closed his eyes and stepped back.  He drew the list out from an inner pocket, tearing off the top section neatly before handing it to her.

“It would be better not to buy bakshiri venom from Ernet,” he said by way of explanation, his eyes now locked on her, “Wait at least five minutes before going in, and then make sure that the Polyjuice does not run out while you’re inside.  Don’t drink more until you’re outside the shop.  Do not even open the bottle.  I’ll meet you at the Floo point in one hour.”

Hermione had barely taken the paper from him before Snape disappeared quickly into the crowd.  Wishing there was a way for her to not worry after him, but knowing it would be pointless, Hermione started making her way to Slug and Jiggers.  As she looked over the list again, she started, realizing something very important as she quickly removed her engagement ring and tucked it in a pocket that she spelled shut.  She had gotten too used to wearing it again.  It wouldn’t be good to get caught wearing Hermione Granger’s ring with someone else’s face.

Her worry turned out to be completely unfounded as they both safely Flooed back to Hogwarts.  Still, Hermione couldn’t keep her eyes completely off of him until he retreated into his own room to change and she closed the door behind him to change herself.  Once again, she started thinking about Ginny and how much she desperately wished her friend was here to talk to.  A dangerous thought struck her as she shook her blonde hair out of its braid.  Maybe she actually could see Ginny.  A quick Obliviate and she… Hermione sighed.  Definitely not.  At least, not until she was desperate.  Feeling her bones start to shift around she groaned, gripping the edge of the dressing table as her organs and skin shifted and transformed.  She had thought it would get easier, but it was still annoying, painful, and slightly nauseating. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, finally screwing her courage to the sticking place when Snape joined her for supper that evening.

Snape’s eyes flicked up at her, glittering dangerously before looking back at his food before biting out a single word, “Yes.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” she asked in a rush.

“No,” Snape said, in another concise bite that warned Hermione to stop prying.  She left it at that and they finished their meal in a silence that relaxed back into companionable as the time wore on. 

That night, Hermione lay awake, no longer for fear of nightmares.  Whether it was because Snape was mentally blocking her, because he was taking Dreamless Sleep, or because there was no longer a connection, Hermione couldn’t say.  Either way, she was still awake now thinking about Snape.  Letting out a chuckle, she turned on her side.  If Harry or Ron could see her now, thoughts of Snape in bed keeping her up at night.  It was a tossup on whether they would vomit or laugh.  Turning on her back, she looked at the curtains.  She missed them.  It was starting to feel very lonely here, even though the addition of Daniel was certainly a reprieve.  She missed her friends.  Though, if she was truly honest, probably not as much as she should have.

The next morning, Hermione opened the door to a very relaxed Severus Snape in one of the chairs by the fire, expertly balancing a book on one crossed knee and a mug of coffee on the chair arm.  Looking up, he nodded to her in acknowledgment before nodding over at the breakfast table, now laid out and waiting for her.  Hermione made like she would cross the room before she stopped, biting her lip, before she turned back.

“I didn’t get to before, but I just wanted to apologize yesterday for my temper,” Hermione said.  “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

The effort that it had taken to apologize was more than worth the actual amount of surprise that showed on Snape’s face, before it disappeared to a more careful neutral expression.  She waited only a heartbeat, not expecting really anything in return, before once again going to the breakfast table.  It was only after she had poured tea and had completely given up on him speaking that he did actually decide to say something.

“The apology was hardly necessary, I believe my voice was raised as well,” he said, but when she turned to look, Snape was once again inside his book.  Hermione smiled at him from her chair.

“Either way,” Hermione said, still smiling at him, “My mother would have.”

Abruptly, Hermione stopped speaking, her voice cut off as tears were now suddenly choking her, taking her completely by surprise.  Her brain did rapid calculations which actually heightened her anguish.  Realizing that there wasn’t enough time to retreat to her room, she instead leaning back in her chair, bringing her tea cup to her lips and trying rather desperately to get a hold of herself as two tears rebelliously rolled down her face.

“When was she killed?” Snape asked, so abruptly it made her forget herself and look up.  His book was closed and away, coffee gone, instead looking very intently at her, and leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees.

Hermione valiantly wiped at her face, looking away.  She tried swallowing rapidly, but it barely helped.  When she could speak, she drew in a few shaky breaths, before beginning.

“I think th-that’s part of the problem,” Hermione said, a tremulous smile on her face as she looked up at him quickly before focusing on her tea cup in her lap.  “They’re not dead yet.  They’re alive.  Right now, my mum’s probably making t-toast and my dad is complaining about some news story.  But in t-two months they’ll be d-dead.”

Hermione set her tea done quickly, rattling the china as she hurried to cover her face, hating herself so much that now of all times she was going to fall apart.  Her shoulders shook hard as she choked the sobs down so she made only the occasional gasp for air.  Slowly, she let herself curl forward towards her knees.  She heard movement, but she was concentrating so completely on trying to keep herself from being a nuisance that she didn’t care. She only hoped that he had left the room.

When a form lowered itself beside her chair she froze, even as sobs still tried to escape.  A piece of fabric touched her hands.  Peeling herself up a small amount, Hermione saw Snape kneeling beside her, carefully looking away and not making eye contact with her, but offering her a handkerchief.  Shakily, she sat up a bit more, took it, and wiped her eyes.

“How did it happen?” Snape asked, his voice low and very carefully neutral.

Hermione wiped her eyes again, wishing she could just run again, like she had been running from it since last Halloween.  Snape was clearly open to that option.  He had knelt to her side, giving her a clear runway to her room should that be the route she chose, but he had asked and he hadn’t left. 

“The Auror office gotten a tip too late,” Hermione said, her voice small and vulnerable as the story was drawn out, almost against her will.  “The Carrows had been seen in the vicinity of my parents’ house.   There was evidence of torture.  And two killing curses,” she took a shaky breath, “No bodies.  Bodies would have been easier.  Harder, but easier.”

“No bodies?” Snape asked, still in that very careful neutral.

Hermione let out a shaky laugh, “No.  That’s what my relatives kept saying.  They didn’t find bodies, there’s still hope,” she said, her eyes filling again as memories kept streaming in, “But they didn’t know what having a Dark Mark over a house meant.  Muggles don’t exactly walk away from Death Eater attacks do they?”

“They don’t,” Snape said.

“The interviews were the worst,” Hermione said, barely suppressing sobs as she choked her way through the rest of her story, “‘Were your parents prone to taking off without telling you?’ ‘Perhaps it is simply a case similar to five years ago when they left for a year.’ ‘Do you have an idea of where t-they m-might g-go’.”

Hermione stopped, for a moment so overcome that she couldn’t speak, even though so much of her wanted to pour out the whole damn history for the first time now that she had begun.

“Did they never catch the culprits?” Snape asked.

Hermione shook her head, still overcome, but at least slowing the sobs as she continuously wiped at her face with Snape’s handkerchief.  Newspaper clippings kept floating past her mind’s eye.  So absorbed that she missed the very calculating expression on her companion’s face.

“What if we saved them?”

Hermione’s head snapped up so fast she almost made herself dizzy, mid-sob.  Her eyes flicked over his face, looking for some mockery, some falseness that she couldn’t find.  His expression was careful, neutral, non-threatening, as if they were discussing the weather.

“We couldn’t,” Hermione said, rather breathlessly, hating the trembling note in her voice.

Snape turned to face her and it was hard to breathe.  They were closer than they had ever been, faces now too close, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to move and break the spell of hope that was now being spun around her.  It didn’t matter that he was close enough to smell the blend of coffee he had been drinking.

“If that is all the evidence that you have that they have died, it’s quite possible you saved them,” Snape said quietly.

Hermione nodded, “I always thought it was further evidence that they had killed everyone when I couldn’t find him,” she whispered, sitting up further, Snape leaning back, her mind racing, “I ran back to my apartment to see if Crooks had escaped and he hadn’t come back.  There was a spelled cat door for him.  He barely spent time with me then, he was constantly with my parents.  I had thought it was because he somehow sensed something… Do you really think it was because we saved them?”

Her voice grew in strength as she rambled until Hermione started believing in the very fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, she could prevent the tragedy that had been haunting her for almost a year.  Snape stood as she wiped frantically at her face.  Why did she need to cry, now that she knew that she might be able to save them?  Looking around, she saw that Snape had disappeared while she had been thinking.  It was for the best, because she might have hugged him.  A warm feeling started to rise in her chest and bubble in her throat and suddenly she let out a small giggle that turned into a full laugh of the purest joy.  Spinning around, she couldn’t help the stupid smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got married! And now my life got easier and harder, HAH. I still need a beta to nag me to write, but the good news is the next chapter is almost half-done. Woo!


	18. What's Coming Will Come

_“What’s comin’ will come, an’ we’ll meet it when it does.” - Hagrid_

 

Hermione didn’t like the color green back in her school days.  There were maybe a handful of people in Slytherin that she had tolerated that had worn it.  Wearing it now, having lost the damn bet, was chafing at her pride.  She didn’t look good in it.  Especially not when someone had decided that shades of lime green and turquoise were her only options, having transfigured her entire wardrobe while she had been finishing dinner last night.  The worst part was that she hadn’t even seen him do it.

The plan had gone well, she reminisced, wincing a bit at her sore muscles as she tucked herself into a bright peridot shirt.  There had been a rather terrible stunner that she had avoided by slamming herself backwards into a tree.  It had been worth it.  Snape had gotten the worst, his arm getting torn open by a slicing hex.  He hadn’t seemed to mind when Selwyn had finally been laid prone, conjuring ropes with his left arm, cinching them tight while Hermione had worked the memory charm.

Checking herself in the mirror, she practically had to shield her eyes.  The peridot shirt wasn’t terrible.  The long row of buttons up the center and the high cuffs added a Victorian elegance that she actually liked.  The skirts though were another story.  Garish, and neon green.  She put her hands on her hips, throwing a look to the wardrobe and wishing there were other options.  Unfortunately, her jeans now had a hole, though they were the most acceptable of the green choices, being a dark forest color.  All of the skirts were more like this, neons and glaring highlighter colors.  Turning back to the mirror, Hermione fumed a bit. It was her own fault for being absolute rubbish at household spells.  It was a condolence to her that she might actually blind him with these skirts and then he’d have to relent.

Hermione put the finishing touches on her hair before drawing herself up to her full height and exited her bedroom. Snape was standing by the bookshelves, looking up at her as she walked in.  A bit of humor broke over his face, making his lips twitch, that would have been anyone else cracking up completely.  Hermione tried to channel her inner McGonagall as she turned her nose up and ignored him, going straight for the delicious looking eggs and toast on her plate.

“I trust you slept well,” Snape said, following her lead and sitting across from her.

Hermione sighed, taking the words at face value rather than what she guessed them to be by his false tone.  Namely, goading her into complaining about what she had to choose from regarding her wardrobe.

“I did, thank you,” Hermione said.  “I’m definitely more sore than anticipated, but I shouldn’t really be surprised on that count.  A tree is not a mattress.”

“It is not,” Snape said deadpan, as if she had said something completely stupid, surprising her into a chuckle before they each relaxed into their own thoughts as they finished breakfast.

Hermione was looking over the calendar in her chair before the fire when she thought of something.  Glancing up, she saw Snape with an experimental magic journal edition open on his lap.  Looking down, she thought hard about whether or not her suggestion would be worth it.  She sighed.

“Oh, spit it out,” Snape said, idly turning a page.

“As far as I know,” Hermione said, ignoring the rudeness, “This might be the last day we can come and go easily from the castle, Floo or not.  Term is starting soon, the teachers will be moving in this Saturday, and we still have doses of Polyjuice left.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at her, before looking back to the journal as he drawled, “I’m truly at a loss as to your dedication to stating obvious facts as new discoveries.  Still, even after all this time.  One would think Slytherin tact might just rub off a little.”

“Is there anything you would like to do or buy?  Tonight might be our last opportunity,” Hermione said, ignoring his attitude with the deftness of one who had now been doing it for months.

Snape stared at her and she tried not to fidget.  He shrugged finally before turning his attention back to the journal.  “I would imagine that you have a complete list of everything that we would need to do over the course of this little venture.  There will still be more ingredients to buy if I am the one to be brewing for Poppy as you said some time ago,” Snape said, drawing a piece of parchment out from under the journal and waving it a bit for dramatic effect.  “And then there is the matter of experimental potions and spells that I will apparently be giving up under a pseudonym and no material gain.  I assure you, that would not have been my idea.”

Hermione waved off the glare that went with the last comment and instead reached for his list, which he handed over without comment.  She started reading and thinking, without meaning to, about what sorts of spells or experiments could be done with the ingredients listed before her, treating it like a puzzle to be solved.

“You might also wish to consider,” Snape said, his voice barely drawing her out of her concentrated stare at the scrawls on the parchment, “That although this get-up amuses me to no end, as we no longer have to hoard the Polyjuice, some shopping might not go amiss.  Especially after that little potions…accident.”

Hermione flushed bright red, trying desperately not to think about it.  Her jumper and tee were now permanent casualties.  Not even Daniel could mend the holes that had been left after the potion bubble had burst and left holes.  It had been terrifying at the time; now it was only embarrassing and she really wished he wouldn’t bring it up again.

“The last thing,” Snape continued as Hermione desperately tried to regain her composure and stop blushing, “That as dedicated as our meal service is at the present time, that this will be the only food we will be eating for the foreseeable future, or at the very least until this venture of yours comes to an end.  If you want any variety at all, now would be the time.”

“There isn’t all that much money of mine left to spend though,” Hermione said, recovering now that she didn’t have to think about the incident any further, trying to think of how many sickles she had left in her pockets after the last gathering of ingredients.  She still probably had a few pounds in a robe pocket as well.

“Your Muggle allotment spent through already?” Snape sneered dismissively a bit, before looking back at his journal, “If Weasley knew what a spendthrift you were becoming he might reconsider his proposal.”

“Our money is separate, thank you very much.  He does not comment how I spend mine, nor would he mind if he knew,” Hermione said sharply, hackles slightly raised.

Snape raised both eyebrows, now giving her his full attention again, “Oh?  My mistake, I am sure.  I did not mean to imply that he would have disapproved the… what is it now?  Nearly 100 or more Galleons spent to make this little venture come about?  As a fully in love and mutually trusting couple, I’m sure that such a large adventure like this was blessed by him, whether or not he had any assurance of your return.  He must have known and respected your autonomy quite a large deal in order to give his approval.”

“I do not need the approval of Ronald Weasley, or anyone,” Hermione said sharply, using anger to combat the terrible sinking feeling in her gut. 

“I do not profess to be even close to an expert in these matters,” Snape said, a superior smile slowly stretching across his face, “Perhaps you could enlighten me.  How is this working for you both?”

Hermione wanted to jump across the distance between them and throttle him, which she would have done, cheerfully.  If only she could have been less self-aware.  She knew why it was getting her so angry.  He was bloody right, and Lord did that chafe.  Every row that they had, with very few exceptions, had been because one had not approved of something that the other had done. The common reply was that the accuser had no right to tell them what to do.  How often had Hermione thought she had the upper hand with that one? 

All of her anger deflated rather abruptly as her emotions turned to sorrow.  How had she missed that?  How often had Ron apologized for things that he’d done, almost solely to get back in her good graces, whether or not he thought she was right?  How often she had done things without discussing them first, even getting her own place, deciding on her job, most of the furniture she’d purchased, when she had casually mentioned looking at homes and her list on the subject, and of course the most notable sitting directly across from her. 

Ron’s transgressions were comparatively small, though more frequently the cause of arguments: his decision on being placed with Aurors, nights when he’d stayed late and not told her, when he had forgotten to tell her about dinner plans with friends, when he had planned a Quidditch practice at the Burrow and hadn’t told her, the list when on, most of which she’d already forgotten.

“We’ll drown if you grow more morose,” Snape bit out finally, closing the journal with a snap.  “It was a simple question.  Is there somewhere on the Muggle side you would visit before our self-imposed exile or not?”

Brushing thoughts of Ron from her mind, Hermione looked up at him finally and nodded.  Frankly, she should have given his idea more thought.  But if she did, Hermione was terrified that she would have to come face to face with the idea that she had been desperately dancing around for months now.   She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that just yet.

Dropping the package and her two shopping bags on her bed, she collapsed backwards onto it with a contented sigh.  As much as she had appreciated Daniel’s assistance and the inherent beauty of the eccentric clothes he had found for her, she was so relieved to have clothing of her own choosing.  Hermione grinned up at the ceiling, holding her stomach happily.  The crispy duck from Lucky Cat had really sealed the day as the best of their time together.  At least for her, Hermione thought reflectively, though Snape had been at least courteous the entire time. 

Hermione giggled a bit as she pushed off from the bed.  At least during shopping he had continuously amused himself by turning any garment she held into a shade of alarming green.  It had been…fun.  She had had fun with Severus Snape and even thinking it didn’t seem real.  Granted, most of his humor had been off color, commenting amount the atrocities that Muggles were committing against fashion.  His derogatory comments about a group of boys passing them who had their pants showing above their jeans had almost made her shout with laughter.  And then at dinner, between terrible doses of Polyjuice, she had enjoyed his conscious effort of continuing the conversation and not letting it lapse too terribly.

The next morning, Severus was looking visibly annoyed for the first time while holding a cup of coffee when she walked in, in a fresh new long sleeved tee, emerald as per their bet, with her old, now forest green, jeans.  Hermione would have smiled if she knew that it would not provoke his inevitable ire.

“Did Daniel gift you with something particularly heinous this morning?” Hermione asked, though she couldn’t see anything peeking out of the bin from her position by the table.

“The beloved staff are making their way around the castle and it is beginning to give me a headache,” Snape growled, “Keep your words short and to the point.  Getting used to this the first time was a chore,” he gestured vaguely to his head, “The privileges of being Headmaster.  Knowing the whole bloody castle’s comings and goings.  Dealing with it now while living with a bloody Gryffindor may be the death of me.”

Hermione ignored him from that point unless he happened to make a remark, which was normally a curse directed at someone she could neither hear nor see.  The week didn’t get better afterwards; in fact it got horribly worse as students were back by that Tuesday.  Hermione was almost at her wits’ end by Thursday, and by Friday she had had enough. 

“Would you bundle up that stupidly outrageous temper of yours and stash it already?” Hermione all but shouted from her position by the bookshelves.  “I do not know what is going on in this castle or that head of yours, but if you throw something at Daniel again, I will bloody well hex you myself and save him from doing it!”

“How I treat my house elf, in my rooms is my own business,” Severus said turning at her, the waves of temper beginning to surge again, this time in her direction.  “You are a guest, for all purposes, here, and I will thank you to remember it!”

“It is my job to worry about how house elves are treated,” Hermione said, stepping towards him, her anger growing to match his, but at least managing to keep her voice level.  “And I will thank  _ you _ to remember it.”

“This is not the bloody Ministry of Magic.  If he wants to lodge a complaint he will,” Severus hissed.  “If you have so much of a problem with my treatment of him, perhaps you would like to do his job and spare me the need of a house elf entirely!”

“Were you always like this?” Hermione asked him sharply.  “Is it just the school year starting that is making you this horrible?  Because I’m absolutely certain I could find a hole in the ground to stick you in for a few months to spare me your attitude.”

“I would very much like to see you try,” Severus said, his voice a low and dangerous growl, his eyes glittering dangerously.  “And yes, I will remind you that I am always like this.  You and your little schoolmates had no idea the amount of control I could exercise in a classroom.”

“So picking at students was what?  A pressure release?” Hermione bit out, glaring back at him.  “You’re terrible.”

“Yes I am and yes it was,” Severus said angrily.  “Congratulations on observing the obvious.  I had rather wondered when that particular skill of yours would resurface.”

“I don’t believe it.  And what, torturing students in class like Longbottom was, what, fun?  A diversion?  You didn’t have the excuse of all these,” she gestured absently at his head, “sensations in your head then.  You must have been literally tearing students in class apart when you were headmaster.”

Something snapped in his face as Hermione realized what she had said.  Abruptly the temperature in the room dropped as both of their tempers cooled.  Severus turned away, giving her his very stiff back, but not before she had seen complete anguish cover his face.  Suddenly, she wanted desperately to apologize, but not knowing if she should.

Hermione stepped towards him, wishing she could have touched him to offer an apology, but she drew her hand back.  No matter how close they had been this entire time, their was still an invisible boundary that kept that back.  They might have grown to an uneasy friendship, but every touch or brush had been accidental so far, with very few exceptions. 

Opening her mouth to try apologizing anyway, Hermione abruptly dropped to her knees.  Sucking in air desperately, Hermione clutched her hands to her chest as spots danced in front of her eyes.  She could feel her heart, sluggish and slowing down even further.  God it hurt.  She wasn’t conscious of someone calling her name, or the hands on her arms.  Her head pounded, in agony, before it was suddenly over. 

Hermione gasped, panting, as the world once more came into focus, Severus on his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her forearms.  Blinking stupidly at him, Hermione looked at the ground between them where his wand lay.  She wondered how it had gotten there.    As soon as she thought it, she realized that it was a stupid thing to wonder.

“Try to slow your breathing,” Severus said calmly, releasing her arms and sitting back on his heels, “What just happened? Can you describe it?”

Hermione, mirrored him, sitting on her heels, before sliding and falling to one hip as right hand caught her on the stones, her left still at her chest, now rubbing slow circles between her breasts as if that might give her heart comfort.  The more time passed, the more it felt like it hadn’t happened at all.  If not for the absolute terror it had left behind, she might have now tried to wave it off.

“It felt…” Hermione closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at the piercing eyes watching her, “It felt like my heart was trying to s-stop.”

Her eyes flew open again in fear.  Why did saying it make it feel that much more real?  It meant that something was happening to her and she didn’t have a clue what it was.  Somehow, seeing Severus looking slightly off into the distance, concentrating, calmed her down.  Still frowning in concentration, he picked up his wand from the ground and stood.  Apparently thinking better of leaving her, he turned and offered her a hand.

When Severus had made sure she was safely seated, he started pacing in front of the fireplace.  Slow measured steps, back and forth that was comforting to watch instead of nerve-wracking like when she ever watched the boys do it.  A small smile managed to light her face as she watched him flick his wand occasionally from where his hands held it behind his back, because occasionally it would spark blue.  Finally, he stopped.

“Was that all you felt?” he asked, turning to look at her.

Hermione frowned, turning her gaze inward, as she wondered why it was getting harder and harder to remember, as she said, “No.  It did feel like my heart was slowing, but almost as if it was because my heart itself was stretching thin.  As if it was trying to leave my chest and go to my arms, my head, and my feet, all at the same time.”

Severus nodded.  “That would make sense,” he said, pacing to his chair and sitting, toying with his wand in front of him.  “Your magic was acting in almost the same pattern you described, stretching away from your core.”

Hermione sighed, running fingers through her tangled curls, trying to loose some of the snarls that she hadn’t fully worked out yet this morning, “What I don’t get is why it’s happening.  The first time I thought that-”

“The first time?” Severus snapped, interrupting.  “You mean to tell me this happened before?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, affronted.  “The first night we arrived.  I simply thought that-”

“Oh did you now?” Severus said, standing, pocketing his wand angrily, “You thought?  How did you not think to inform me of this?”

“As I was saying,” Hermione said, her tone rising to his, “I thought it was a onetime occurrence that had something to do with ripping time.  As I had never done such a thing before, I merely thought that it was an after effect and that I didn’t need to mention it.”

“Well from today, I would say that was a massive error on your part,” Severus bit out, stalking to the fireplace and grabbing the mantle.

“Now who’s stating the obvious?” Hermione asked, bitterness and sarcasm coloring her words, wishing that she could have been angrier, but instead only slipping back into fear.

Severus sighed before pushing off from the mantle and crossing to the bookshelf, scrawling out a few words before turning around and crossing his arms as he faced her.

“Well, it would seem your little to-do list just grew,” he said, smirking at her.

Hermione smiled.  It was small, shaky, and uncertain, but it was a smile, for the first time the arrogance that was inherent to that smirk giving her confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Columbina for agreeing to beta for me! I'm sorry this one is so short, I promise the next one to be very plot heavy in exchange! But hey! Look! A fast update!


	19. The New Ghost of Slytherin House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas are beautiful. She's really helping to keep updates regular. :)

_"Or perhaps in Slytherin,_   
_You'll make your real friends,_   
_These cunning folks use any means_   
_To achieve their ends."  The Sorting Hat_

September 19 th began like all of the other days that they had begun together, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel like skipping.  This was the day that she had been dreading when she had started living with Severus, but now it was just as filled with excitement and joy as every other birthday that she had had since she was young.  Her parents weren’t going to die and she would be able to see them next year.  It wasn’t a reminder of their deaths like she thought it would be.  She was downright buoyant.

Entering their common space, Hermione found herself wanted to share her good mood with her living companion, but apparently that wasn’t on the menu for today.  As soon as she walked in, Severus, who had been sitting at the desk, shut the book he had been reading with a bang and rolled up the parchment he had been writing on.

“About bloody time, woman,” he growled out, standing and tucking the book under his arm before billowing past her and in through her rooms, down the stairs and out of sight.

Hermione would have been offended if these months hadn’t made her almost completely immune to his blustering.  Instead, she treated herself to breakfast and a completely quiet room to catch up on the novel that she had pulled from the Wizarding Library of Dublin.  It was actually very enjoyable and she didn’t really think about Severus until after lunch when he had still not resurfaced.  Deciding on risking it, Hermione shut her book and braved the potions lab.

Halfway down the stairs, Hermione heard a loud curse, a crash, and she froze.  Descending the rest slower, she cleared the archway in time to see Severus levitating a flask from the floor and back onto the table.  The clear splash of blue liquid on the far wall made her raise her eyebrows at him, though he was very determined to ignore her.  The two active brewing stations and orderly but plentiful ingredients before him made rather good excuses.

“Could you break for lunch?” Hermione asked finally.

“No,” Severus growled out, flicking his fingers towards the splash on the wall.  “A momentary distraction allowed that to happen.”

“And here I thought it was a fit of temper,” Hermione said idly, walking over to try and glance at his notes in between the cauldrons.  He slammed the book closed over the parchment, nearly making her lose a finger.

“If you were so sure of that, it’s a wonder you braved getting this close,” Severus said, taking a golden stirring rod and carefully inserting it into the cauldron in front of him, the other hand tapping the table to keep time with the circles.

“What are you brewing?” Hermione asked. The base was too low for her to make any educated guesses yet.

Severus ignored her until he finished stirring, lifting the now thinner rod clear of the cauldron, taking a pair of clippers and snipping the end off into a small vial.  Lowering the cauldron firmly onto the heat, he leaned over the other cauldron to sniff at the contents before he frowned in concentration.  Reaching for a mortar and pestle, he sprinkled bits of dried rosemary into it before grinding them into a powder.  Rolling the dust around in his fingers for a moment, he sniffed the cauldron again before sending a pinch of the rosemary in.  Smelling again, he stepped back, satisfied.

“I’m working on something new, and something old,” Severus said, brushing his fingers off on a black apron she hadn’t even realized he had been wearing until that moment, before tightly pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

“That both answers the question and doesn’t.  Is it possible to be any vaguer?” Hermione asked, craning her neck to try and read the bits that were still visible on the parchment.

Severus’s eyes snapped open before he sprang back into motion, grabbing both book and parchment from the table, and tossing them expertly on the other table, away from her. “I could,” Severus said with a deadened voice, “I’m brewing potions.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, “Should I leave you to that?

Severus shrugged, the gesture looking so human and uncomfortable that Hermione was momentarily uncertain what to do.  Thankfully, he saved her by handing her a bowl of fleshy looking spheres that almost had the color and consistency of large fish eggs and telling her to squash them and not ask what they were. 

As they worked, the conversation ebbed and flowed with Severus’s need to concentrate.  They once again went over the plan for her parents, which was blessedly easy in Hermione’s mind.  Since they knew the exact date and time of the attack, and because Severus assured her that the Carrows had absolutely no tact and even more limited guile, they tended to pick a target, scope for five minutes, and then attack if they were defenseless.  Essentially it would be the game of who was faster and who was stronger.

“That will not be the hardest part,” Severus said, the seriousness of his tone chilling her and she swallowed hard.  He was very carefully stirring now and not looking at her.

Hermione locked her fingers together, twisting them under the table.  She knew exactly what he was talking about.  He was referencing the Carrows’ tendencies to play with their prey.  She had shared with him all of the details, all of the spell traces left behind.  It had been why she had been so certain her parents were dead.  They had been tortured.

“I know,” Hermione swallowed again, her mind far away and imagining the screams in her mind all too vividly. 

“We’ll be waiting in the house before they set up their spells,” Severus said, reiterating what had already been stated.

“I know,” Hermione said, with a shaky smile.  “But we’ll save them.”

Hermione turned to look at him, the corners of her smile still wavering, but holding, “We’ll save them and that’s what counts.”

Severus nodded, his gaze suddenly changing, looking more searching across her face.  Hermione looked away, unable to hold up to his eyes at the moment.  Her stomach was what really demanded her attention.  Her eyes scanned the workspace before she looked back at Severus, who was still staring.

“Dinner?” she asked.

Shaking his head, scattering hair into his face, Severus looked away and back to the smaller cauldron which was still simmering and said, “In a moment.  You should go though.”

Over dinner, Hermione made no mention of her birthday, though it was on her mind.  Nothing was going to defeat her mood.  Not fighting Death Eaters, rescuing her parents, a heart problem that had still not resurfaced, being away from friends, nothing.  Though it felt strange turning 25 when she was turning 24 on the same day in a different place.  She hadn’t expected presents, obviously, but when a slice of lemon cake appeared in front of her with a candle after the dinner, she grinned widely.

“Happy birthday?” Severus asked, pouring another cup of coffee for his dessert.

Hermione grinned, closing her eyes and blowing out her candle before she answered him, “Yes.  Though I’m physically 25 now I suppose, the younger me is celebrating her 24 th somewhere in the midst of London right now.  My parents took me and Ron out to a show and dinner.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way really before,” Severus said, leaning back in his chair and cradling his coffee.  “I suppose I am still 38, though by the timeline I am 43,” he shuddered, “I always thought I wouldn’t live to see my 40 th birthday and here I never will have to.”

“Morbid,” Hermione commented around a mouthful of cake.

“True,” he retorted.  “Considering you witnessed what would have been my last breath, I didn’t think you would disagree.”

For whatever reason, that was the night both decided that neither wanted to sleep yet.  Hermione had the excuse of the next chapter in her book, but whenever she would look up, Severus hadn’t moved from the page that he had been looking through for the past hour.  Just almost before midnight, he bolted upright, the journal on the floor as he drew his wand and stalked to the entrance to his rooms.

“What is it?” she whispered, drawing her wand and going to stand slightly behind him.

“I’m not sure,” he said, his tone low and cautious.

“Could you make the wall see-through from this side?” Hermione asked, relaxing slightly as his position shifted into a still cautious, but more relaxed posture.

Without answering, Severus merely cast the spell so that the entire wall now appeared to be open to the outer corridor.  Hermione didn’t see anything, but Severus seemed very intent on one of the alcoves in the corridor.  Finally, they both saw something.  It was a small bit of a girl, probably a first year, wearing her Slytherin house robes thrown over her pajamas, walking quickly down the hallway before stopping dead in front of where the tapestry covering the entrance to their rooms hung.  Hermione tucked her wand away, now fairly certain that she knew what was happening, walking up level with him so she could see his reaction.

The girl nervously toyed with her robes, clearly shaking, twitchingly looking over her shoulder, before drawing herself up, “Idra Little, Gryffindor, Serena Lunile, Gryffindor, and Pamela Green, Ravenclaw,” she said, voice shaking slightly, “They always catch me after Potions or before dinner.  I don’t know what you can do, just…anything?  Anything would be good.”

With that, the girl bolted quickly back the way she had come.  Hermione watched Severus lowering his wand in confusion.  Instead of turning around though after she had disappeared though, Hermione watched his eyes flick back to the alcove. 

“What is it?” Hermione asked, whispering, though she knew that the stone walls were still thick enough that no one could hear them even if there was someone standing there.

Severus gestured and, as Hermione watched, a Disillusionment charm dropped and a wizard stepped forward.  Realizing that her initial suspicion was correct, Hermione watched carefully as Neville Longbottom stepped from the alcove, looking after the girl with a worried expression.  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head.  Then he walked away.

Severus looked after him in confusion and Hermione watched as he seemed to frantically try to figure out what had transpired.  Hermione backed off and went back to her chair, picking up her book, if only to have something to fiddle with as she spoke, absolutely sure that this was going to be a very strange conversation.  Severus was now looking at her.

“I assume that you have some knowledge of this?” he asked, showing a rare degree of confusion in his voice.

Hermione nodded, turning her book over in her hands as Severus changed the wall opaque again and crossed the room to sit across from her.  Hermione bit her lip slightly, unsure of how to begin.  Finding out had been a bit of an accident and she wasn’t exactly sure how Severus was going to react to the story.

“Since the war ended…” Hermione began, still toying with her book, not really able to look at him in the eye, “The Slytherin house hasn’t exactly had it easy.  From what Neville has told me…”

Severus sighed, sitting heavily down in his chair, when he interrupted, “Let me guess.  The most frequent visitors to the hospital wing.  Most frequently involved in altercations with other students.  Lowest total house points since the Dark Lord’s fall, consistently.”

“Essentially,” Hermione said with a grim smile, “Yes.  I don’t know how it actually started, but there was a rumor that Slytherin had a new defender.  A ghost from the war.”

Hermione looked up, watching as Severus’s eyes hardened slightly as she continued, “You.  Somehow you becoming a potential avenging angel for any student being bullied.  By standing outside your old rooms at midnight and stating the names of the aggressors.”

“And this became Longbottom?” Severus asked, slightly incredulously.

“Actually, I’m fairly certain it always was him,” Hermione said with a real smile.  She was really quite proud of him.

“And what happens to these…accusers?” Severus asked.

“Various things,” Hermione said, “Though my personal favorite involved rather explosive Weasley products and an Engorgio charm.  It was a quick visit to the hospital wing to put everything right, but apparently the student was so terrified that it helped alleviate the bullying, without the Slytherin student ever coming forward to accuse them.”

“Which they never would,” Severus said, leaning back with a sigh.  Shaking his head, he stood, rubbed his eyes, before he nodded to her and retreated to his bedroom.

By October, Severus seemed well adjusted to the presence of students in the castle.  For him, though, that only meant that he showed less irritation in the morning over coffee and Hermione caught him muttering to himself occasionally about students or one particular teacher or another.  Ever since the occasion of discovering his “ghost,” she caught him going to bed earlier.  Whether that was to purposely avoid the possibility of seeing more Slytherin supplicants, she wasn’t sure.  A good part of her hoped it was because he was sleeping, but she doubted it.

One morning, as Hermione had accompanied him down to the potions lab for more experimenting, she asked, “Did you ever discover what had been linking our dreams?”

Severus grunted, which she wasn’t sure how to take, until he gestured again impatiently for the cup that she had been working with.  He was in his more “comfortable” clothes which included a white shirt and low cuffs, showing signs of wear at the collar and elbows, with black trousers.  He still had it buttoned to his neck, however, with a hastily tied black cravat.  Hermione handed the cup to him without comment, watching as he meticulously droppered it into the vial in front of him.

“Are you sure you had no recollection as to the order or nature of these articles I was supposed to have produced?” he asked, deftly avoiding the question.

“No,” Hermione said, allowing the subject change, watching him carefully.  The way he worked was amazing to watch.  He was always so carefully focused.  It was like watching an artist paint.  “There were some that involved blood elements, including a set of wards that looked like something goblins might even employ.” He smirked at that, which made her think that he had already created something like it and knew exactly what she was referring to. “And then there were a few grey magic creations.”

“Grey,” Severus snorted, somehow managing the expressions of humor though his hands never wavered, “All magic is magic.  There is evil, certainly, but this notion that there are white or black magics is quite ridiculous.”

“You wouldn’t call the Cruciatus black magic?” Hermione asked.

His eyes flicked up to her and then back down to his work, “I would call all of the Unforgiveables evil, yes, simply because of what is needed to cast them.  There is a certain evilness of character that is necessary to perform them correctly.  The magic itself is not black magic.  The soul of the person performing it, perhaps, but the magic itself is magic.”

“It’s not the power itself, it’s what you do with it?” Hermione asked, trying to process the rest of what he said and hating the rather sick feeling in her stomach.

Severus nodded, making two notations on the parchment by his cauldron, before leaning back to sit on the stool.  His eyes were still calculating and very concentrated on the table before him.  Hermione frowned.  He was almost too concentrated.

“You performed them,” Hermione said, merely offering the statement and no judgement behind it.

“My soul has been black enough to perform them for quite some time,” Severus said, his voice deadening slightly and though he didn’t move or shift positions, somehow he felt less present than he had been before.

Hermione wasn’t sure what to say, though a small panicked feeling was beginning to rise within her, starting in her gut and working its way up to squeeze her heart painfully.  She knew with every bit of her soul that she had to say something, but it had to be the perfect words for this moment, and she was at a complete loss.  How was she supposed to give him absolution?  She had given him his life back when she had ripped time, but what if this darkness started to grow strong enough to make him want…  She knew she had been silent too long already.

Severus had crossed his arms, but otherwise hadn’t moved, still staring in concentration at the cauldron.  The feeling of distance, of cold, was only growing the longer she waited.  Praying that this was the right thing to say, she spoke.

“I don’t think you have a black soul,” Hermione said, her voice coming out in a whisper, though it held conviction in it.

“Merely showing you are ignorant, if not stupid,” Severus replied easily, though still in that dead voice that was beginning to scare her in a way that she hadn’t known was possible.

“I would maybe go so far as to say damaged,” Hermione said, wishing that she had a way to break the terrible ‘otherness’ that she was feeling surrounding him.  “Damaged perhaps, but not irreparable.”

Severus chuckled darkly, making Hermione shiver.  It wasn’t a laugh.  It was the farthest from an actual laugh that she had ever heard and it shot through her heart.  She was messing this up.  She had no idea what to say, but she knew that this was not it. 

“I have done things that no one would ever or could ever forgive Hermione,” he said, staring still intently at the table before him.  “I do believe that is one of the definitions of an irreparable soul.” 

“And whose definition would that be?” Hermione said fiercely, suddenly no longer helpless and suddenly, inexplicably angry that she couldn’t say the thing he needed to hear, “It was war and every one of us did things necessary to our survival.  Just because you did things more horrible than most does not mean that you are incapable of being saved.”

“In whose world would that be?  I have murdered, tortured, manipulated, cursed, poisoned, betrayed, stood by, hurt,” Severus said, his voice still dead as if he were listing the days of the week.  “If you were any one of the many that I needed to do any of the above sins to, I would have, if I needed to protect my identity as a spy.  If someone had brought you before the Dark Lord to be tortured, I would have been as likely as any to do it.  Perhaps more.  He did have a dark sense of humor.  The stories from Hogwarts at the end amused him to no end.  Pleased him even.  It surprises me that your friends didn’t tell you everything.  Should I tell you the stories?  Should I list names?”

“No,” Hermione whispered, swallowing tears as fast and as frantically as she could.

“I am a man beyond saving,” Severus said, looking away from her to focus on the far wall.  “It would take a thousand lifetimes to make up for all of the death and destruction that I caused or failed to prevent. And yet with all of this, I am denied death.  Denied an end.”

Hermione flinched violently, shocking two tears out of her eyes that she wiped at frantically.

“Do you wish I hadn’t saved your life?” Hermione whispered, shocked that her voice didn’t crack at the end.

“You will not tell me why you saved it,” Severus said, finally looking at her, his eyes still blank.

“Because I wanted to,” Hermione said, shocking herself with the reality of it.  She had tried to answer this question before, but apparently it hadn’t been enough. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.  If he was going to deny himself emotions, she sure as hell wouldn’t.  She was feeling now enough for both of them.  “Maybe at first it was because of the unfairness of everything.  You didn’t have a chance at a life, a real life.  You had a rough start, followed by worse school years, only to be thrown right in with one of the evilest creatures the wizarding world has known.  Then after his fall, the snake-faced git comes back, to throw you right back in.”

It wasn’t working.  Hermione could tell.  It actually seemed to be making things worse, but she kept plowing forward anyway, now desperate to get through to him.  There was an importance here that she couldn’t shake and it scared her.

“In the end, it was because I wanted to,” Hermione said with conviction, her anger getting her through.  “You were dealt a bad hand, but you are worth it.  You are brilliant, strong, and courageous.  These last months have only confirmed that for me.  And damn near unbreakable.  You managed to stay alive through all that you endured, to the very end.  You held up under the absolute worst of circumstances, where even the best wizard in the world would have broken.  I have no idea how you managed it, but I would be damned if you didn’t get a chance to show the world what you could become if you didn’t have thousands of yokes on your shoulders.”

Severus said nothing as Hermione fell silent.  The bubbling of the cauldron suddenly seemed very loud.  She watched him take a breath, let it out, shake his head.  Something about his apathy just made her want to hit him.  Logic wasn’t getting through to him, emotion wouldn’t, what would?  

“Severus Tobias Snape,” Hermione finally snapped, giving her best Molly Weasley impression, getting him to look at her in astonishment.  “You are a good person.”

When his gaze slid to the side, Hermione moved up and into his personal space, getting between the stool and table, making him startle backwards, pushing the stool back to get away from her, and nearly toppling it over backward.  She wouldn’t have been confident enough, or comfortable enough, months ago to try this, to get this close.  She moved forward again so that she was practically toe-to-toe with him, looking up into his face, far too close to ignore or dismiss now.

“Do you think, for one second, that any of your fellow Death Eaters once lost sleep over their crimes?  Do you think the Carrows had nightmares over the children they tortured?  How about Rowle?  Do you think he worries about the state of his soul?” Hermione was gaining ground.  She could see the tiny concessions being made in his eyes as she spoke.  “Your past is your past.  No one is going to deny you did horrible things, but that does not mean that you are horrible.  Your past is past and it no longer has to be your future.”

Severus frowned, looking down.  Hermione was so concentrated on attempting to read his face that she missed what he was doing until it was done and his sleeve was pushed up to his elbow.

“This will always be my future,” he said, holding up his branded forearm, the Dark Mark no longer black, but still a very real presence on his skin. 

Hermione refused to give in, angrily pushing up the sleeve of her tee shirt, baring her own curse scar, ‘mudblood’ still very visible, no matter how many years had passed.  She glared up at him as she said angrily, “And this will be mine.  Do not let yours discolor your future any more than I let this define mine.”

“It is not the same,” Severus said, anger flashing in his eyes briefly.  At least it was emotion.

“How?” Hermione bit out angrily.  “Both from people too evil for this earth.  Both reminding you something about yourself that you would rather forget.  Both something to hide from people that would make judgements about you but would never understand.”

“I highly doubt you chose yours willingly though, stupid girl,” he hissed, the anger winning out over empathy.  “I did.  When I received this damn thing it was the best day of my life.  Do you think it mattered that by the first reveal of the true nature of the Death Eaters that I began hoping for a way out?  Do you think it mattered at all?”

“It matters now!” Hermione bit out, her anger responding to his.  “It matters that we would both cut them out of our skin if it was possible.  It matters too that you tried to make it right.  It matters that for decades you risked your own like to save others.”

“And the many that I couldn’t save?” Severus bit out.  “Them?  How many died before I turned Hermione?  Make no mistake, I turned for very selfish reasons, as I am absolutely sure you are aware.  Even after I started spying I might have saved two lives when the Dark Lord wanted five dead.  Would you like me to give you that list?  Or are you worried that it might change your mind?”

“It wouldn’t,” Hermione replied, glad that she was able to stay furious through this.  “It would absolutely not change my mind.”

“Shall I start chronologically or alphabetically?” he asked, the dark sarcasm now thick in his voice, stepping back and crossing his arms.

“You keep trying to justify the fact that you were a terrible person, that’s fine.  I can admit the fact that you did terrible things,” Hermione said angrily.  “You are going to have to reconcile them or you are never going to be able to live a life now.”

“And what if I decide I don’t want to?” Severus said, his anger crashing into her as she stepped forward into her face.

Hermione stepped back as if she’d been slapped.  Her eyes flicked around his face frantically as she tried to tell if he was being serious.  The silence grew as she watched the anger start to fade from his face as the sick feeling in her stomach grew.

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Granger,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I harbor no suicidal tendencies.  I am… I have been simply trying to figure out where I will be in this future that I have been given.”

Looking down, Hermione covered her arm again.  She was fairly certain there was more to it than that, but she would let it go.  It was rare for either of them to share so many personal honesties with each other.  Mostly they would stick to safe, academic subjects like debating the importance of Loren’s rune for protection warding or whether the addition of gold or silver would produce better results in a potion with healing properties.  They were at their most content when working on a problem and both were distracted from the inevitable end to all of this--namely their separation and return to their lives. 

Hermione could understand his trepidation.  She would at least be returning to a life, family, friends, a job, and a fiancé.  He had nothing but the memories of friends he had appeared to betray, children he had tortured, people he had killed, and a life he had hated.  She could understand him not wanting to think about it.

“You could return to teaching,” Hermione said, trying to lighten the mood with a helpful suggestion, before a dark part of her added,  “Just think, there has almost been a full graduating class that hasn’t jumped when the feared bat of the dungeons slammed open the door the first day of classes.”

Severus snorted out a bit of a laugh and Hermione feverishly thanked whatever God had to surely love her.  Letting him roll down his sleeve in peace, the Gryffindor smiled before she bravely touched his shoulder briefly before turning and leaving the room, trying not to think about how he had tensed underneath her hand, though he hadn’t flinched away.

That night after dinner, Hermione and Severus were once again enjoying the neutral silence that normally reigned in the evening.  Both content to forget the events that had transpired hours ago. She was tucked into her chair and he at their cleared dinner table, working on something that she had been forbidden from looking into, when he scraped his chair back loudly, making her look up.

“There is one thing that we have not fully clarified in this whole mad plan,” Severus said, playing with his quill absently as he twirled it in front of his mouth.

Hermione closed her book as she regarded him, waiting for him to build the suspense great enough for him to continue.  It was something that she knew he did as habit, whether or not he did it consciously.  She hadn’t grown sufficient enough courage to actually ask.  She absently counted in her head as she waited.

“You have said that it was the appearance of the Carrows that began the tip that made its way into the Aurors office, correct?” he asked.

_ 23 seconds. _ Hermione thought, carefully concealing her smirk by leaning forward and setting her book aside.

“Yes to both,” Hermione said, turning in her chair so that she was facing him.

“There has been the one point that I have been mulling over in my brain.  Alecto was never the brightest candle in the room, and her brother is surely dim in comparison.  They rarely have any original ideas, much less the ability make plans and act on them,” Severus said, Hermione’s stomach was sinking as he continued.  “My question is how they chose this day and your parents as targets.”

Hermione felt her face drop as she thought.  She had taken for granted that her parents had been targets already and that the Carrows had chosen them somehow.  Her  mind was quickly coming to terms with what he was saying and it was making her stomach sick.  If what he was saying was true, then that meant that she had to find the Carrows.  Not only to find them, but to set them at her parents.

“You have no idea why they chose your parents,” he said, carefully not a question.

Hermione shook her head, momentarily struck dumb, her mind whirling as her brain struggled to process what she had realized.  Severus gave a resigned sigh, looking at the clock on the mantle that Daniel had chosen as the replacement for the last one that Severus had sentenced to the bin.  Hermione followed his gaze.  It was almost ten o’clock at night.  The shuffling of papers drew her attention back to the man behind her.  He was very carefully organizing everything into a pile that he scooped easily into his arms before vanishing into his bedroom, the door closing behind him. 

Shock was still warring against fear as Hermione leaned back in her chair, barely processing his departure.  She was trying to construct all of the knowledge that she had of the Carrows and their movements.  They had three weeks until her parents would be attacked.  With what Severus had said, though, it turned out that they might have one more task ahead of them.  One quick and silent sob shook her frame as she realized all of the implications of his observation.  Her parents would be tortured and it would be her fault.

Severus re-appeared, clothed as his last Polyjuice incarnation, once again resplendent in green. Hermione followed his progress to the fireplace with large eyes as she tried not to hyperventilate.

“I will see what information can be gathered,” Severus said, grimacing at the bottle in his hand before taking a swallow of Polyjuice.  Without a backward glance, he threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared, leaving a still reeling Hermione behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last filler chapter! I apologize for the lack of overall plot, but this was the easiest breaking point right now. The next will be a little different because, though I thought I could get away with only doing this from Hermione's POV, too many things are going on with Severus for me to not give you a peek inside his head.


	20. A Different Point of View

_I just wanna walk to the mountains_  
_Walk to the mountains all alone_  
_With my own doomed soul, doomed as the source_  
_Where can I find peace in the city?_  
_As I found in the eyes of yours_

___ Mø - Fire Rides (Night Version)

The night had turned cold much faster than anticipated.  Severus hunched further into himself against the brick alley wall behind him.  If he wasn’t careful, the October cold would make him start to shiver and any tense vibrations of his muscles would undoubtedly lead to painful spasms that he tried at all times to avoid.  He carefully snuck the flask of Polyjuice under his hood to take a disgusting sip before settling back into his stalking of the Banshee’s Scream.

The Banshee was a pub and meeting house that few would dare to frequent.  Its patrons consisted of those dark enough and powerful enough to protect themselves, those joyful few that were protected by such dark wizards and witches, and the few stupid enough to think that all they would find inside was a good pint.  Severus watched with narrowed eyes as two more passed the carefully set booby-trap that he had set outside the front entrance, but he had no luck.  

Severus had prepared a very simple potion that he had used several other times during his spying days.  A dash of some material collected from both Carrows had made it unique to their magical signatures.  A bit of acting like a stumbling drunk had successfully splashed it liberally onto the stones before the pub.  Now was his least favorite part of the enterprise: waiting.  Waiting led inevitably to thinking and it was thinking that he wanted so much to avoid.  All of his thoughts these days would turn in the one direction he knew that he should not go.  Completely against his will, his mind conjured the very moment that all had begun his terrible predicament.  He could still picture every detail and it was only sheer force of will that kept him from closing his eyes to better remember.

She had laughed.  She had been absolutely filthy from the tussle with Rowle and layered with dust gathered from the Shrieking Shack.  It was the stupidest thing in the entirety of the universe, but there it was.  His entire perception of his former student had changed because she had laughed.  He could picture how she had first tried to suppress the giggle, her hand curled up by her mouth, the tiniest of lines crinkling her eyes, before she had succumbed to full laughter, nearly doubling over in her mirth.  It was just the freeness of her.  She showed the openness that could only be revealed when a person laughed near someone they could trust.  He could not remember the last time he had heard someone laugh like that.  It had so unsettled him that he had had to leave the room.

And then there was the elf.  Damn the stupid creature for being as observant as he was.  There wasn’t a human being alive that knew him that well.  Somehow he had seen something.  Ducking his head further into his robe’s hood, Severus scowled as he remembered their conversation.

“Miss Granger is special to Headmaster Snape?” Daniel had asked, popping into existence near his elbow.

Snape had scowled before looking back into his desk drawer, pulling out parchments as he searched for coded fragments of paper that he had left behind the last time he had been there.  He had forgotten how inherently nosy that his personal house elf had been.  In the past, it had been almost comforting that at least someone wasn’t trying to kill him and had some sort of interest in his health.  Now he was sure it would suffocate him.

“She is no more special than any other former student of mine, I can assure you,” Severus had replied, drawing out the pieces that he needed in a stack on top of the desk and continuing to search for his quills.

“But Headmaster Snape lets her in his rooms, sir,” Daniel had continued, walking around him and trying to make eye contact.  “Surely she must be special to Headmaster Snape, yes?”

Severus had deliberately turned away from him, stalking to the chair by the fire.  He was not going to fuel the elf’s imagination no matter what he was thinking.  “We are working together Daniel, nothing more,” he had said finally.  “She was the one responsible for saving my life,” Daniel had gasped, Severus had ignored him, “Until May, we both must stay out of the way of the rest of the world.  That is all.”

Daniel had been practically dancing on his toes and it had grown hard to ignore the small noises that he was making.  Severus had simply sat in his chair, trying to give off the aloof appearance of someone completely uninterested in the house elf that was now bouncing in front of him.

“Headmaster Snape is special to Miss Granger!  Miss Granger must truly care for Headmaster Snape!” Daniel had said, pacing away from him, with such a grin on his face that it must have been paining him.

“Enough Daniel!” Severus had finally shouted, standing up and nearly upsetting the papers he had been meticulously organizing.

“Intelligent, yes, kind,” Daniel had said, his voice taking on an almost dreamy quality.  “Beautiful.  Tolerant, surely, she must be.  And she cares for the Headmaster!”

“Elf, you will stay out of our affairs,” Severus had said, a low and dangerous quality coming into his voice that made first years nearly piss themselves.  “You will stick to your job of merely cleaning our rooms and serving our food.”

“But with only a little help, I am sure-” Daniel had squeaked.

“We are merely colleagues living here for a short time out of necessity.  Your help is unwanted and unneeded and I will thank you not to interfere!” Severus had shouted.

Checking a small watch that he had tucked into a pocket, Severus stifled a yawn.  It was now nearly midnight and his search had yielded nothing.  He wished desperately for a stiff cup of Daniel’s coffee.  The weariness of his new nightly activities was now beginning to settle in his bones.  Contrary to what his living companion probably thought, knowing that he was now a “ghost” in the castle had afforded him a bit more freedom to stretch his legs when he couldn’t sleep.

All Severus needed to do now was to cast a few glamours and impersonate himself, stalking around the corridors.  Thankfully, with the power of Hogwarts still linked to his very bones, he didn’t need to run into anyone if he didn’t wish to.  And he never wished to.  He had a conscious awareness of where anyone was in the castle.  So far he had had only two close calls, both with the current Headmistress.  He suspected that he hadn’t yet been caught because of her own trepidation about confronting him if she actually found him.  It could only help Longbottom’s case, though, if the very Head of Hogwarts believed his fable as surely as the students did.

More shifty patrons slunk into the Banshee as Severus watched.  It was a Saturday evening in October and as such it was a good guess that at least someone who had near enough contact with the Carrows would have frequented the pub.  Severus shivered slightly and he had to forcibly concentrate at relaxing to keep his back muscles from going into spasms.  Even though this was a more productive activity than stalking the castle to help his insomnia, he was hating it more and more as the time passed and more and more muscle groups began to protest being out in the cold.  The only good thing about the pains was that it kept him very much in the present, and didn’t give him an opportunity to start thinking about other…things.

Just when the weariness and cold were almost enough to chase him into bed, Severus froze, all movement ceasing and pains forgotten as his gaze was held, perfectly focused, on four witches now approaching the pub.  All of his senses were screaming at him and he cautiously palmed his wand in his robe pocket, drawing it and letting it fall slowly to his side, just in case.  His eyes narrowed, watching their feet oh so carefully.  As the second witch’s feet fell on the marked stones, they turned light blue for only a moment, but it was enough to make Severus smile in triumph, before masking his expression once more as she entered the pub.

When it was clear that they would not exit right away, Severus relaxed his grip on his wand slightly before slowly drawing a pince-nez from his waistcoat pocket and placing it on his nose.  Sure enough, Alecto’s footprints were now illuminated in the glass, making it downright easy to track her.  He had gotten the idea from one of the muggle films he had snuck into when he was a child.  There were very few of his fellow Death Eaters that this technique hadn’t worked with, whether it had been because they had too closely guarded their genetic material or because they used dampeners on their magical signatures when out and about. Things that neither Carrow sibling had thought necessary.  Things that a spy like him could capitalize on.

It had been old habit that had brewed it, all of the steps in his head, catalogued and coded on bits of parchment as well to keep it from falling into enemy hands.  His lip twitched slightly in irritation.  Severus had brewed it countless times and he had let it fail.  The memory of throwing the flask into the wall all too vivid still in his memory.  Having to start from scratch was not something that he typically had to do and it was all her fault.  Leaning back further against the wall to straighten his back, Severus nearly groaned aloud as his spine nearly creaked with protest.  It wasn’t her fault, not truly.  It was whatever was killing her.  

Severus couldn’t diagnose it, couldn’t even narrow down the problem.  All he really knew was the reality of the attack that he had witnessed.  Perhaps it was instinct that he had performed the  _ Chroma Apokalyptoun _ spell on her, perhaps fate, but what he had witnessed had been terrifying.  He hadn’t lied when he had described what he had seen.  It was like something had grabbed at the core of her magic and then had pulled in all directions, the light fading to dim around her core magical center, growing brighter at the tips of her fingers and toes as if her magic had been metal shards drawn away by a magnetic field surrounding her.  He hadn’t known of anything that could do something like that.  He had been terrified, but somehow, under that terror, had grown a determination born out of some stupid notion of poetic justice.  As she had saved him, now he could save her, and they would be even.

Except that was impossible.  Because no matter the research or the tests or the skill, Severus couldn’t solve her problem.  He couldn’t even define the problem.  Instead of the anger he would normally reach for - there was nothing to break here and any violent movements might alert someone to his presence - he allowed his body to slump somewhat in defeat.  He wouldn’t stop trying, surely, but normally he would have had something, some insight, by now.  She had saved his worthless existence for some reason and he wouldn’t even be able to do the same for her, one of the saviors of the wizarding world.  Fisting his hands at his sides, he resisted the urge to run a frustrated hand through his hair.  He couldn’t save her from whatever was doing this.  It wasn’t a one time occurrence.  If it had occurred twice, it would happen again.  He tried not to think about how terrifying it would be if whatever was sucking her magic away from her eventually succeeded.

He was saved from that line of thinking by having to take another swig of Polyjuice and then once more by Alecto’s exit from the pub, this time on the arm of a taller, slightly stumbling wizard.  Severus shook his head slightly under the cover of his hood.  The poor thing had no idea what he was getting into.  Pushing off from the wall slightly, he stretched and rolled his shoulders causing several vertebrae to pop.  Blue footprints trailed out from the bar and down the street to the edge of the Apparition wards.  There were moments when he applauded his own brilliance and this was one of them.  He didn’t even need to risk following too closely.  A smirk managed to creep onto his face, giving it a very Snape-look despite the different features.  The hunt was on.

It was around three o’clock in the morning when Severus Apparated back to the Shrieking Shack feeling disgusted and strongly in need of a shower.  His shoulders still could not shake the lasting tension, though he attributed that to the smell here.  The smell was still too prominent in his nightmares for him to ever be comfortable with this place.  It always felt like this would be the last place he ever saw and nothing could shake him from that belief. 

Severus shook the hood back off of his head and then nearly fell, stumbling, and caught himself on the edge of a wrecked sofa.  He was tired.  He was shakingly close to being awake for 24 hours and having to act the Death Eater again after so many months of respite had almost been too much for him.  There were about ten minutes left of his current Polyjuice dose, so he lowered himself on the disgusting sofa with shaking legs.  He had tailed Alecto to a cabin, the potion giving even her Apparition signature a blue color.  Sure enough, her brother had been waiting for her and her prey.  And Severus had had to join in on the fun.  

Leaning forward, Severus propped his forearms on his legs, letting his head hang under the sheer weight of his sins.  The small part of him that held any hope in the goodness of the world had been proven wrong again.  When  _ she  _ had arrived, healed him, patched him together, told him that five years had passed, that he had been named an ally, that Potter had actually thrown that fact in the Dark Lord’s face…he had allowed himself a feeling of triumph, of hope.  He had hoped that there would be a world where he no longer had to be the Death Eater, the spy.  That he wouldn’t have to kill anyone anymore.  In reality, what was one more body to his count?

Hissing in a breath, Severus sat up straight as his bones and organs shifted around again.  It took another few minutes when he had to get used to all of the aches and pains that came with being Severus Snape.  It was an adjustment to breathe in with lungs that hardly ever drew full breaths, under ribs that had been broken more times than he probably remembered.  Stretching slightly, he could feel the places where scar tissue stretched in places on his back, aches in his left shoulder when a particularly vicious Cruciatus had dislocated the joint and he hadn’t been able to heal it in time to prevent the damage, similar damage from continuously flared nerves and healed tendons and ligaments in his right knee, various other aches and pains that he had forgotten about for a few hours, from an aching neck to a slight cramp in his leg.

Severus could not remember a time when he hadn’t hurt, at least somewhere.  None of them were active hurts any longer, but it was still pain.  Carefully, he acknowledged and catalogued all of the pains and then pushed them to the back of his mind until they barely registered anymore.  He stood, carefully stretching his bad shoulder across his chest, then over his head, his spine cracking slightly.  As he stood there he mentally pushed the memories of the past hours down and away, leaving only the necessary information at the forefront of his mind: the Carrows would take the bait.  He knew he would pay for it later, but he needed all his mind to concentrate on getting safely to his bed and there was too much of his mind gone already due to fatigue.

A smirk slid onto his face as Severus drew his wand, casting the eerie ghost glamour over his form once again.  Using the Floo when he knew that Minerva would notice was not something he would risk twice.  He was close enough to the castle to feel her awake for some reason, he might as well give her a bit of a show if she happened over to one of her windows.

The ghostly Severus stalked the passageway to the Willow easily enough, appearing across the grounds easily.  His neck was a ghastly sight of silvery blood and he purposefully paused and looked up several times just to give anyone watching a good show.  Something to give credence to Longbottom’s little fiction would certainly not hurt, especially if it meant no one getting close enough to him to possibly see around the glamour.  By the time he was actually inside the castle and stalking towards his rooms, he could feel at least a few stirring in the castle.  Hopefully some had caught the performance.

When he arrived in front of the tapestry, Severus hesitated.  He was exhausted.  Now that he was certain about not being seen, he had let it show.  Hell, he had limped down the last bloody corridor.  But now, he could sense her.  The damn Gryffindor was in his common room and not in bed as any sane person should have been by now.  With a sigh, he dismissed the glamour.  Wishing with all his being that he didn’t have to, Severus drew himself up to his full height, blinked moisture back into his eyes, squared his shoulders, and then stepped through the tapestry, ready to berate her for her obviously poor sleeping habits.

What he saw deflated him faster than a popped balloon.  She wasn’t awake.  She was sitting in his chair, that he noticed first, obviously.  Her reasons seemed just as obvious considering his chair faced the outer entrance and hers the door to her bedroom.  Her knees were curled into her chest, her head cushioned in the corner of the chair.  The blanket around her was tucked in so well it was most likely the work of a house elf, rather than her, and on her lap was one of her ever present books, propped open on her knees as if she had fallen asleep reading it.

Almost as if he were drawn, Severus crossed the room as quietly as he could until he stopped before her chair.  There was no justice in the world.  This girl, woman a voice in his head was intent on reminding him, had saved him.  That small voice that still hoped tried in vain to tell him that she had waited up for him, when he knew that she was only logically waiting for news of the plan to save her parents.

He was too tired.  That was all.  He didn’t actually want to brush the stray hair out of her eyes.  It was just something out of place that needed fixing.  That was why he had even noticed it.  How he wished that she would never need to know what he had done tonight.  To shield her from it.  But he knew that she would ask.  He was an idiot for trying to be kind to her.  Hell, he’d taken her shopping and dinner in London for fuck’s sake.  He was the worst kind of fool.  Once this damn thing was over, she would go back to her life and he to his and they would be done with it all.  She would probably never even think his name again.  

Severus tried not to think about that.  He tried not to think how much that hurt.  Exhausted, he rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes.  He shouldn’t have been able to hurt like this again.  He was the worst kind of fool, thinking that any small gesture from her meant anything more than what she would do for a casual stranger.  It was that damn Gryffindor mentality.  Unless it was painted in neon on a billboard, most wouldn’t notice it, but this was… This was her that he was thinking about.  She almost always noticed.

She shifted on the chair in her sleep, the book slipping somewhat and Severus resisted the urge to step forward to put it back.  He stared blankly at her, almost in a trance.  When did he stop thinking about her as a student?  She was intelligent enough to be a colleague.  He had known that she was no longer the know-it-all from his classroom over the summer.  This was dangerous though.  Acknowledging her as an equal was dangerous.  She was continuously destroying every label he tried to fit to her and it was uncomfortable to say the least.

Severus’s legs hit the back of his chair.  He hadn’t even realized he had been slowly backing away from her until his shaky knees could barely hold his weight and he allowed himself to collapse backward into the chair.  His head wearily lolled back, though he could not bring himself to stop staring at her.  She was not the innocent that he wanted to make her out to be, nor was she stupid though he sometimes found himself wishing she was not as perceptive as she was.  She was not without faults, she had a temper, nervous habits, too many questions, always questions, but she was kind.  He could barely keep his bloodshot eyes open, though he wanted desperately to imprint this vision on his mind with all his being.  Why, he could hardly explain.  Perhaps it was because if someone so very good thought enough to save him, that still small voice whispered, then maybe, just maybe, there was something good enough in him to still save.

The next morning, Severus awoke as he always did, his entire body tensing as his mind came to consciousness almost in an instant.  His senses worked on overdrive taking in scents and sounds first, quickly followed by bodily awareness.  There was something new that was disturbing him.  First he was sitting, though a quick memory reminded him where he had fallen asleep.  His rooms always smelled the same, but there was an addition of lavender.  That, he normally didn’t smell.

As he cracked his eyes open, Severus first took in the room, finding himself alone.  The clock on the mantle read 8:30 in the morning, the fire had been fed wood, and the chair across from him was missing a Gryffindor.  The only evidence that she had been there was the book, marked with a piece of parchment to save her place.  He stirred a bit more, shaking free the blanket that had been covering him, wafting the scent of lavender up at him.  That shook him again.  The image of her covering him with the blanket that she had been using almost overpowered him.

Angrily Severus stood, grabbed the blanket up and stalked over to the bin with it, pausing with it raised up over his head before he hesitated.  Why?  He should be angry at the show of pity.  Curling the soft fabric in front of him, he just couldn’t make himself throw it away, no matter how tightly his fists squeezed it.  Hating himself as much as ever, he tucked the blanket under his arm and disappeared into his bedroom.

About a half an hour later, freshly shaved, showered, and dressed, Severus strode into their common room, dressed once again in full Potions Master garb, complete with black robes to fold around himself if he needed.  The fact that he had slept only minutes more than five hours was not lost on him and he still descended on the carafe of coffee that Daniel had left like a dying man, completely ignoring the fact that the other chair was now occupied.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

Severus glared at her from over his coffee.  “As I am sure you are aware, I slept very little,” he bit out, every syllable telling her to drop it.  

“You found them,” she said it like a statement, but there was a question in her eyes.

“I did,” Severus stated, hoping that brevity would work if sarcasm had not.

“How?” she pressed.  “Do you need to see them again?” he barely suppressed a shudder, “Or did they take the bait immediately?”

“There was nothing immediate about the enterprise, I thought that was clear enough by my inability to arrive before three o’clock in the bloody morning.  Let yourself be satisfied though, it has been done,” Snape finally snapped, standing so abruptly that the chair squealed in protest at being shoved backwards. 

Severus paced to the mantle and deliberately avoided looking at her.  He felt her eyes on him and it made him feel small, terrible, and once again filthy as the memories of last night began trying to find their way back to the forefront of his brain.  It was a conscious effort, even here in his own rooms, to keep the past in the past, but he was improving.  Having her constantly plaguing his existence at least gave him a necessity to the self-imposed torment.  Memories and flashbacks could not be allowed out of his brain to give way to hallucination nonsense.  The days spent at her tender mercy in the damn tent had been enough.

His back tensed as he heard her stand and move towards him.  Severus almost hissed every curse he knew.  He could barely stand to be in the same room with her now, much less have her in his personal space.  He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and deeds until they weren’t so raw on his skin that she might be able to see them.  Subconsciously responding to his thoughts, he turned to face her, tucked his robes over his hands as he crossed his arms over his chest in a blatant dare for her to come closer.

She stopped well enough away that Severus didn’t immediately want to flee the room, crossing her arms over her chest, more as an attempt to comfort herself than be confrontational.  He could tell that she wanted to ask, so desperate for information and every detail.  Gryffindors.  He would have scoffed if he could have, their emotions were always on their faces, so painfully obvious it hurt.  

“Are you alright?” she asked instead.

_ Fuck _ . Not for the first time, Severus considered giving a meddlesome Gryffindor an honest answer.  Not that he ever would.  He was not alright.  But the world was not ending and it was difficult to point to the greater good as his excuse for not breaking into the million pieces that his life truly had become.  The quiet entreaty was almost too much, almost just enough for him to not reach for anger to try and solve all of his problems.

“You can tell me,” she continued, her voice so open, almost pleading, “If it would help.”

And like that the urge was gone.  He would not be pitied.  Not now, and not ever.  Sweet anger boiled in his stomach, and raged up into his chest even while a small voice in his head tried to reason with him.  The anger helped to evaporate it like it never was.

“Nothing you could do would help, Miss Granger, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would save your pity for things like you magical creatures files at your office,” Severus practically hissed at her, closing the distance between them until he practically spoke the next into her face.  “You may have saved my life but I do not owe you explanations for every one of my actions.”

Severus expected to see the hurt in her eyes.  He would not have been surprised by tears or by her retreating to her room.  Hell, with him this much in her personal space, he wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if she had struck him.  What she did say though, that surprised him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he reared back almost as if she had indeed struck him.  “I’m sorry that it was that bad, but I’m glad you made it back safely.  My offer still stands if you want to tell me what you had to do.  I won’t judge you.”

For a few moments they just stood, staring at each other.  Severus was desperately trying to understand her logic, but it was just too much.  She couldn’t mean it.  He kept trying to hold to the anger, but it was like trying to hold tightly to sand.  The more he tried, the faster it seemed to slip away.  She wouldn’t look away.  Why wasn’t she running away from him?  Couldn’t she somehow sense what he had done?  Why couldn’t she just accept that he had done his job, as Albus always had?  He had never demanded the means, merely the ends.  Suddenly he was angry again, only just enough to allow him to speak. 

“You don’t want to know the things I have had to do,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Probably not,” she whispered, “But if you needed someone to listen, I would. I got to see a few, remember?” she tapped her temple,  “I’m not keen on watching them replay, but you looked like you needed to talk about it.  If it would make you feel worse, I’ll drop it right now and not bring it up again.”

Somehow, some miracle cleared his mind enough to let his better self speak first when he replied, “I am not…,” he thought better of it.  He shouldn’t be admitting, this was not, “I’m not sure if it would help.”

Severus found himself holding his breath, watching her now.  Her expression was as careful, as neutral, as it had been since the conversation began.  He didn’t see any more expressions of pity or sympathy, just careful neutrality.  It was the only thing keeping him in the room.

Finally, she convinced him to sit.  She refilled his coffee and handed it to him, all without a word.  Then she had sat across from him, still with that careful expression, barely making eye contact, and waited. 

Eventually, the story came out.  It was abbreviated, of course, she didn’t care how long he’d waited in that damn alley.  But he did give every detail, every bloody, cursing moment, of how the drunken fool Alecto had lured back to her brother to play with had died.  Of how he had convinced Alecto that he had been a devoted servant of the Dark Lord and recognized in the pub.  Of how he had convinced her that their methods of fun were the same.  Of the curses that he had shown her.  Of the immobilization charms.  Of how he had been a part of their fun and games.  He told her how the man had begged, how he had pleaded.  He told her how he had a family.  He told her how he had been begging them to kill him at the end.  He told her how he had killed him, making it look like a cut gone too deep when it had truly been a mercy killing.  Then he told her how he had planted the seeds, how the wards guarding Hermione Granger’s parents could be broken, all the while having blood drying on his trousers and wishing that he had had supplies with him to have killed the Carrows then and there. 

Eventually Severus fell silent.  He didn’t want to see what she thought of him now, to see it in her eyes what he knew to be true.  He was a monster.  Anything that she had said before was not with the knowledge that he had now given her.  He had been complicit.  He had been a part of the evil of the world.  He heard a sniff from the other couch and flinched.  He could not look up to her tears, but something of the confession had left him almost as exhausted as he had been stumbling back into the castle hours ago.  He couldn’t bring himself to flee the room on legs that he was unsure would hold him.

“How did you know where to find her?” she asked finally into the silence.

“It’s her old hunting ground,” Severus said into his coffee mug, rolling it a bit between his hands.  “The odds were good she might make her way there for weekend entertainment if she was in the mood.”

“So she does this often?”

Severus sighed, “Often enough.”

“And you made sure they would take the bait on the 27 th ?” she asked.

Severus couldn’t even bring himself to be angry, he simply wanted her interrogation over.  He nodded.

“Good,” she said, and there was something in her voice that made him look up.

She wasn’t looking at him, for which he was grateful.  He didn’t think he had the energy to fully mask the shock on his face.  It was obvious that she had cried at some point from her eyes, though he couldn’t see evidence of tears on her cheeks.  Her whole body was tense; he could see it even under the knitted jumper she was wearing.  There was anger in her voice, but he couldn’t correctly connect it to why it had appeared, or what she had really meant.

When she turned to look at him, there was a fire in her eyes that made him somehow feel strangely comforted, “We’ll stop them.  I don’t want them seeing the inside of Azkaban,” her voice was hard and determined.  “If my parents knew half of the things that went on inside of Hogwarts, I’m sure they would agree.  Though if it’s all the same, I would be glad if you never told them it was my idea.”

The last had been said with something close to a teasing expression that he looked at her with something akin to wonder.  Her expression changed suddenly, back to concern though he couldn’t see to understand why.  He blinked and suddenly she appeared in front of him, but he had barely seen her move.  The coffee cup was taken from his hands and he barely had the strength to protest.  He had the vague recollection of getting to his feet and being walked to his bedroom door, of waving her away, before letting the door close between them.  With something between exhaustion and relief, he let himself collapse on his bed and fall asleep.

When he awoke, merely an hour later, Severus was more refreshed than he had been after his five hours previous.  Shocked with new life, he was still careful to maintain a snappy and sarcastic exterior.  No matter how grateful he was for what she had done for him, he planned on recovering whatever ground he had lost in his rare moment of weakness. No matter how he snapped however, she merely took it in stride with a smile that was maddening, making him both angry and strangely pleased at the same time.  The only time she actually spoke back was to remind him to call her by her first name.  That night was one he risked not taking Dreamless Sleep and, miraculously, no nightmares followed.

The next weeks were filled with mounting tension on both sides.  Severus was still determined to do everything at once, allowing her to fret over their battle strategy that he knew was as flawless it was ever going to be.  He was devoting his attention to his own personal research and which of his personal achievements to flaunt to an undeserving public, and trying to determine what the damn hell was wrong with Granger.  That was all in addition to the as yet unsolved mystery of the mental connection that had apparently been established when they had entered Hogwarts.

The discovery of that fact had chilled him to the core.  It had invoked all of the memories of the Dark Lord plundering his mind, of Potter dipping his head in memories, and of Dumbledore sorting through his mind like it was a picture album.  She was such an unobtrusive presence though that it had been easy to mentally shield from her.  With minimal ease he had found the link and closed the door on his side using Occlumency.  What worried him was that the link still existed at all, because it was still there, if he concentrated.  After this damn rescue was over then he would give it his full concentration, but most days he simply tried to keep it from his mind.

October 25 th was a relatively uneventful evening.  She had been working with him in the lab using various crystals he had stored as ward bases so their conversation over dinner was on safe and academic pursuits, both completely avoiding the battle they would be fighting in two days’ time. Before they parted ways for the night though, Severus stopped her.

“Are you prepared?” Severus asked, his voice low and careful as he watched her carefully for reactions.

She swallowed, hard.  He watched her as she turned back to face him.  Her left hand’s fingers were twisting her pitiful excuse for an engagement ring around her finger.  Her eyes were downcast, but concentrated, as if she was thinking, not discouraged.  Finally, she looked up.

“I’m as ready as we’ll ever be,” she said, her eyes very determined.  “They’ll never hurt anyone else again.”

Severus nodded to her, a brief smile flickering on and off of his face.  They had taken down Rowle and Selwyn, now they would add the Carrows to their list.  She wouldn’t stop looking at him for some reason, her eyes taking in his face in a way that made him think she was searching for something, though he didn’t know for what.  Evidently she found it though because her fingers stopped spinning her ring and she smiled at him before closing her bedroom door behind her.

Severus stood there for minutes before he ran his fingers through his hair.  Mentally shaking himself, he entered his own bedroom.  After shutting the door, he simply stood once more, his thoughts almost too chaotic to concentrate on.  The eve before any of his enterprises similar to this he would normally take Dreamless Sleep and hope for the best.  He had never risked any sedatives before because the risk would simply be too great.  He wished that he could have now, but he still didn’t dare. 

After he undressed, Severus lay in bed, replaying bits of their conversation tonight.  The animation that she brought to the conversation, the leaps of logic that would take her to the right conclusion that was normally cushioned between quotations from various books, all combined with the raw intelligence that had been tempered by time and molded by experience and experimentation was enough to drive anyone to distraction.  Why she had settled for a dunderhead like Weasley who couldn’t even bother to buy a diamond was a mystery to be solved at another day.  He didn’t even know why he cared.  Sleep came, eventually, without nightmares, thanks to the last of the Dreamless Sleep that he risked taking.  It was the last dose for awhile.  Anymore and it would stop working.  He really didn’t want to build up a tolerance to it again. 

The next morning there was a rather atrocious statue sitting at the foot of his bed, but Severus ignored it, moving instead to shower and shave before…why was it so hard to even think her name?  In his usual thirty minutes, he was again in the empty common room, sipping his second cup of coffee when she arrived. 

She seemed concentrated, as she carefully deposited her spelled robes over the arm of her chair.  It would be fully laden down now with their supplies for the next 48 hours.  She was in her new blue jeans with her old trainers, a navy sweatshirt clinging tightly to her over a purple shirt that had one of those purposeless hoods.  Her hair she had tamed back into a braid, though there were still some rebellious curls around her temples that would not be fully restrained.  He watched her smooth the fabric of the robes before taking a very determined breath and turning to face him.

“Good morning,” she said, a tense smile on her face.

“Good morning,” he replied.  “As soon as you eat, we will depart.”

Looking to the table, on which sat Daniel’s normal spread of breakfast, she swallowed and looked back to him.

“Eat,” he said, making a show of adding another slice of toast to his plate, “You’ll need your strength and we don’t know what kind of access we will have to your parents’ kitchen, if at all.  This might be the last hot food for the next day or so.”

Nodding, she seemed to force herself to choke down water, tea, some eggs, and a bit of toast.  And then they were ready.  She tossed her traveling robe around her shoulders and the hood over her head.  Severus made a few cosmetic changes to his face using glamour, lightened his hair and tied it back, shrunk his nose, added color and freckles, and then the pince-nez for extra measure.  A traveling cloak with a deep hood obscured almost anyone’s view of his face.  Then they were off, traveling to the Leaky Cauldron via Floo and then Apparating to her street, the spot carefully chosen under a copse of trees a bit up the street. 

“I’ll go first, both will be at church by now, Mum’s car is gone,” she whispered, taking the robe off and throwing it over her arm as she spoke.

Severus restrained himself from making any comments.  He could see how her hands were trembling slightly as she smoothed stray hairs back from her face.  They were both aware that this was the next step, but he let her speak anyway.  He watched as she walked away, the tension in her shoulders clearly showing how her body was aching to check for watchers as she carefully checked the ward points on the corners of the property and then removed them.  From there she vanished from sight, but he knew what her next steps would be.  She would tap the brick in the garden wall and Transfigure it back into the spare key to her parents’ house.  From there she would enter the house, and then Apparate back to him.

“Are you ready?” came the calm voice from behind him.

Severus took a deep breath before he nodded.  It took concentration to not flinch when her hand came around his elbow.  Though they had both agreed that Side-Along Apparition would be easier and safer, it was difficult not to shy away from physical contact.  Looking down, he caught her eyes and she gave him a grim smile before Apparating.

They appeared in a room, next to an armchair.  A twin sized bed was on the far wall, a chest was at the food of the bed, a small nightstand held a white lamp, and the other side held a low bookshelf that extended to the wall and wrapped around until it met the window on the left side.  The window had a desk neatly arranged with a desk lamp, an empty glass cup, and an organizer.  The chair in front of it looked comfortable and like it had seen a lot of use over the years.  The wall to the left of the window had more bookshelves, though only about half-full.  Considering the wall behind him held another bookshelf, similarly half full, he guessed that they had been full at one point when she had been living here.  On the right wall were closet doors.

The woman beside him stepped away and, drawing her wand, and flicked it at the curtains to close them, leaving them in relative darkness, with only the slits of light under her curtains to light the room.  She summoned the empty cup from her desk and conjured a blue fire in it for light, setting it on the chest at the foot of her bed.  Severus broke from his impassive observation of her room and exited the room, ignoring the other doorways and hurrying down the stairs.

The home was precisely as Hermione had described and although she had not saved the articles relating to the destruction felt inside, she had given him a detailed enough note of it for him to know exactly where to place things.  Only one flash bang would be necessary.  There was a bookshelf to the right of a fireplace that he only needed to move a bookend out of the way for it to become completely at home with the various knick-knacks that stacked the shelves among the books, looking simply like a navy cylinder bookend.  A trace magic made him look down abruptly with a frown.

Under the shelf was a flap that looked similar to something that might be found in a door to let animals out.  Drawing his wand, he probed it slightly with his magic.  There was teleportation, but also a cover so that Muggles would simply see a wall and nothing more.  There was a noise from behind him and Severus didn’t think, merely reacted, as he whirled, wand at the ready, before he froze, thankfully not casting any curses.

A large ginger cat was staring at him, in a half-crouch on the back of the Grangers’ sofa.  Rather than attacking however, he was regarding him with careful yellow eyes.  His ears twitched briefly in the direction of the stairs before he stood as much as his slightly bandy-legs allowed and leapt down from the sofa.  The cat stalked over to him, staring at him and Severus narrowed his eyes, not yet lowering his wand.  Finally, the cat lowered his head, bumping his cheek briefly against Severus’s leg before he turned around and leapt away.

Nostrils flared in anger, Severus pointed a wand at his throat to summon the witch who had nearly been responsible for his heart attack when he thought better of it, merely sighing and getting back to work.  He began setting down the wards and spells that had to be tied to objects and timers to keep the Carrows from being alerted to the recent spellwork that would be out of place in a Muggle home, all while masking them with Muggle repelling charms to keep the Grangers from accidentally handling them. 

“You could have told me the bloody cat would be here,” Severus hissed at the first sound of her on the stairs coming down.

“Crooks!” she cried, a fraction too loud for their prescribed silence, making him turn around and see her practically fly down the stairs, her eyes frantic.

The cat in question appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, tail straight up behind him.  He watched as she practically ran at him, throwing herself on the floor and squeezing the bundle of fur.  She withdrew, looking at him, before rearing back a bit and nursing her left hand.

“Now that wasn’t fair, Crookshanks,” she said to the cat, who was now regarding her as suspiciously as a cat was able, sitting in a half-crouch.  “Oh, goodness.  Fine.”

She stood, the cat following her with his eyes as she continued, “I’m me, alright?” the cat turned as if he would leave the room, “But I’m not me,” the cat paused, looking back.  “I went back in time to save him and then forward in time.  There are basically two mes at present.”

Crookshanks sat daintily and looked at her with, Severus was astonished to see a Minerva quality about him.  Explaining herself to her cat had seemed ridiculous at first, but the intelligence with which he regarded her now was very telling.  He tucked his tail around his paws and looked between the both of them with what seemed to be the cat version of, well-that-was-very-obvious.

“Was that why you stopped visiting my flat?” she asked suddenly, glaring accusingly at her cat.  “You came just once the whole summer!”

The cat rolled his shoulders and stretched, before looking back at her with a very pleased expression on its face, and then using that time to make its exit, trotting past both of them and up the stairs, leaving a rather incredulous witch and baffled wizard in his wake. 

The rest of their preparations went smoothly.  The reunion between the cat and his owner had injected more livelihood and hope into the proceedings.  Eventually, the animal had decided it was more interesting downstairs and remaining aloof upstairs would not have given him any entertainment.  Severus had watched in bemusement as she had gone over all of the hidden objects in the room with her cat who seemed intent on pawing at all of their hidden objects.

“He’s half-Kneazle,” she had offered as the only explanation. 

Regardless, Severus was still shocked with the rather intelligent discourse that was exchanged over each object as if she was explaining the matter to a very intelligent child, rather than a pet.  After about an hour, Crookshanks that apparently decided that their fussing was boring and went to find himself something to eat.

“I’m readying the house for war,” she said in a small voice around noon.

Severus looked up from his work on the doorway that led to the kitchen to find her staring out the window.  Her arms were crossed, one hand lightly holding her wand, as she looked at nothing in particular through the glass panes.  Once again, he found himself struck by just how much she had aged from her days in his classroom.  She had grown up, yes, and gotten older, but there were fifty year olds that didn’t age like the pair of them had.  It was a quality that darkened the eyes and lined the mouth, even when at rest like she was now.  Her face was relaxed, but her thoughts showed how many horrors she had seen and lived through.  It was there, hiding in the shadows across her face and the tension in her limbs.

“Yes,” he said, making her turn to look back at him as he stood from his crouch, “But it is only a battle.  And we know that we will win.  Not many have that advantage.”

She gave him a small smile, tense at the ends, before going back to her contemplation out the window. Her parents would be returning shortly from their Sunday routine of meeting up with Hermione’s grandparents. The sky was greying as it turned into the afternoon, with promises of rain.  They were both glad of it.  It would keep other Muggles inside and away from danger.  At one o’clock, she staged an exit, leaving the house and walking far enough away that she could duck into a side street and Apparate back to her bedroom, just in case the Carrows had decided to be cautious and stalk the home for a full day beforehand.  Severus met her afterwards, walking up the stairs to see her sitting, hands trembling slightly in front of her as she sat on the chest at the foot of her bed.

“I thought for sure that they were there,” she whispered, addressing the wall in front of her instead of his figure darkening her bedroom doorway, “I have no idea if they were or not.  But I wanted to check every shadow and every sound at every moment.”

Severus crossed the threshold, tapping the doorway to activate the spells that she had laid there to keep her parents, and anyone else, from noticing her bedroom, and sat next to her.  His entire body radiated tension.  It was rare for him to willingly get so near another human being and it was nearly a herculean effort on his part not to stand up again and move away.  He could feel her tension as well, though he could not tell if his presence alleviated the fear or lessened it.  Nevertheless, he had come this far and damned if he would find himself backing down now.

She made a small noise and folded in a bit on herself, leaning forward across her knees, her arms hugging her low stomach and he hated how much it pained him.   _ Once more unto the breach, _ he thought, mirroring her and propping his forearms on his legs, bringing his upper body within an inch of her, and though they were still not touching, he could feel the warmth of her body even through his clothes and smell the lavender that was like a perfume she continuously kept around her.  He felt her tense, but then relax, and with that she leaned ever so slightly to the left.

  
When their arms touched it was like nothing Severus had felt in over twenty years.  There was no fear of pain or expectation of a performance.  It was simply comfort offered and comfort taken, freely and trustingly.  Hermione let her head lean just slightly on his shoulder, no words exchanged, and when he didn’t move away, she let herself go a bit more and he felt the true realness and weight of her.  And just like that, Severus Snape knew he was in far more trouble than he had previously thought, just as he knew that if he turned his head even the smallest degree to the right, he would be able to brush his face against her hair.  He knew that he should stand, should move away, especially as a small voice clamored that his hopes might come true, but he found he didn’t have the strength to move, much less stand.  Nothing could have moved him from that spot, not even if the Dark Lord’s brand had burned once more on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! Also, all of you that bookmarked this story, it seriously warms this writer's heart.


	22. The Carrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! But at least it's a long chapter this time! Special thanks again to my beta who is amazing at editing and keeping me motivated with near-instant feedback during chapter writing, and everyone leaving kudos and bookmarking this story. Seriously thank you for liking and believing in my little canon-correction here.

_"It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more." -_  Albus Dumbledore

There had been nothing but anxiety mingled with fear for Hermione these past three days, but now, here, she felt peace.  If anyone had told her that she would receive the best comfort in this position, with her head cushioned on the shoulder of Severus Snape, she would have thought they were mad.  For the first time in days, she let herself relax.  There was something of Hogwarts and potions still lingering on his robes.  They were smells that had become more home to her than those of the room that they were currently sitting in. 

Hermione Granger had always been the planner, the organizer, the researcher in her group.  During her school days, all the way through to her working adult life, it was the same.  If it was going to get done correctly, she would have to do it.  They were her co-conspirators, surely, but she had never been comfortable unless she had checked their work.  She had seen how his mind worked, how meticulous the planning phases had been.  It was a blessed relief, to be honest, to trust someone to make those decisions for once.  It was a novel experience that she trusted someone’s opinion as well as, or more than, her own.

Shifting a bit, Hermione felt Severus stiffen once again beside her.  She supposed that she should take pity on him and move away, but when she felt his arm and shoulders relax once more, she stayed.  It was a small miracle that he hadn’t run yet.  Any time that they had brushed accidentally, it had resulted in him almost immediately putting a table or a chair in between them.  Closing her eyes, she just let herself relax further as she truly felt the exhaustion from barely sleeping the night before, feeling the warmth radiate through the black wool under her cheek and against her shoulder.  He didn’t offer empty words of condolence or tell her that her worries didn’t matter, he simply offered comfort that she was able to take.

A door opening downstairs made Hermione jump and quickly sit up, the moment shattering as her heart immediately began to pound in her ribs.  Severus simply stood, not looking at her, though he went to the doorway. 

Inwardly, Hermione started cataloguing all of the objects downstairs as she heard her parents moving around beneath them.  There was one flashbang that Severus had placed in the bookshelf, laid carefully over one of the anti-Apparition ward points.  Detonating it would throw up the anti-Apparition wards to make sure the Carrows couldn’t Apparate out.  Then there were two flash devices that had been strung around the lightbulbs in her parents’ light fixtures in the living room and kitchen that would send out a blinding light for four seconds.  They had attached three spell explosives that could be silently detonated with only a wand swish on one leg of the coffee table, worked into the top of the sofa, and one on the frame of the front window. 

Severus had laid more trap wards into the molding which they could slam home if they were desperate.  A potion that could befuddle magic was set in vials in the corners of the living room for that purpose.  Once broken, they would follow the lines that Severus had set and essentially make the living room an almost magic free zone for two minutes until the potion evaporated.  

Then there were the four viewpoints to see downstairs that Hermione had linked to a picture in her bedroom: the kitchen clock, the mirror in the sitting room, the television in the living room, and a picture frame on the hall table. Hermione crossed to one of the pictures framed on the wall and touching the upper left corner with her wand. Immediately she had a perfect view of her parents moving around through the downstairs.  When her mother moved to the kitchen, she tapped the top right corner and she could see her mother moving around once more.  Tears were rising in her eyes and she hastily swiped them so they didn’t fall.

“…I know but they were missing her,” came a deep masculine voice from downstairs.

Hermione frowned, tapping the bottom left corner so she saw her father in the hall downstairs, calling to her mother in the kitchen.  He was putting away his jacket in the front closet.  Her mother replied, but she couldn’t hear her very well.  Abandoning the picture frame, Hermione went to stand next to Severus in the doorway so that she would be able to hear better.

“No, I agree he’s a very sweet boy,” her dad was saying.

“She’s fond of him I suppose,” her mum replied, Hermione was barely able to hear her, but she grew louder as she exited the kitchen and entered their living room.  “I think that Mum was always expecting her to choose someone a bit…more.”

“More?  Like a politician?  Or like a doctor?” her dad asked.

“I suppose.  It’s not like there was a way we could tell her that Ronald is a wizard and a war veteran was there?” her mum replied, “or that they’ve saved each other’s lives countless times.  I can’t help it if she thinks our daughter settled for someone less just because they were childhood friends.  That’s all she really knows.  Coupled with the fact that  _ our _ daughter didn’t attend Cambridge or Oxford…”

Hermione’s cheeks burned.  She knew that her gran had never really approved of Ron, but she had never really known him.  Ron had always put his foot in his mouth a bit whenever they were with her family.  It was hard for him not to, since he had to continuously make up stories about his job and how he was just not comfortable with anything Muggle.  And university!  She had never thought about how that affected her parents, both dentists, to have a daughter that had elected to forgo further education.  Her parents understood, she knew that, but to have them not be able to tell exactly how she had decided to revolutionize the world was almost too much.  Now she felt terribly like she had been wearing blinders her whole life and that she had betrayed her Muggle heritage completely.

Hermione tried desperately not to acknowledge the man at her side as she turned around and headed to the window like she was going to check the street. Unfortunately, all she could think about now was that if she showed her engagement ring to her family that they might actually start making their disapproval known, out loud, to her.  When Ron had proposed the second thought after happiness had been sadness that her parents would not see them get married.  Now?  She wasn’t sure.

Hours passed quickly, though Hermione could barely sit still.  She heard her parents milling around downstairs, eventually having dinner and turning on the television.  Crookshanks used that time to make his entrance to her bedroom, though he spent about a minute hissing and pawing at the doorway, before getting over it and coming in.  Hermione at least let herself laugh a bit at his antics, playing under her bed and then jumping up and pawing at her pillows until he had succeeded at pushing them off of her bed.

Her cat’s reactions to Severus were quite mixed.  Severus had taken to browsing the shelves of books that still remained in Hermione’s old bedroom.  Every so often, Crookshanks would stop what he was doing and sit, watching the man, wherever he was, with his big yellow eyes, as if daring him to actually touch anything.  Severus would simply stare back at him.  For whatever reason after the third such exchange, Crookshanks had come to the conclusion that he liked this human, leapt from the bed, trotted over to where Severus was now sitting in Hermione’s armchair, and began to rub himself against Severus’ legs.

“Off with you,” Severus grumbled, nudging the cat away with his leg, but Hermione would have sworn later that he had seemed pleased.

It had made her nervous a bit, when Severus had first started browsing her shelves, as if he were somehow getting a glimpse into her head.  It wasn’t very far from the truth, if she was honest with herself.  Here she had stored everything from her battered and well-worn childhood copies of  _ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe _ and  _ Matilda _ , to  _ The Foundations of Herbal Chemistry _ , a Muggle textbook, and various novels that she had read over the summer. 

Severus and Hermione eventually ate the sandwiches that Daniel had packed them for dinner.  Hermione could barely eat past the lump in her throat.  Every time she thought to begin a conversation, the impulse died too quickly for her to act on it and because of that, most of their time in her bedroom passed in quiet solitude.  Severus had eventually chosen two books to peruse, stacking them neatly on the armchair’s arm before choosing one as a convenient and trusty wall after dinner.  Neither of them seemed to want to acknowledge the bit of closeness they had shared.  In fact, it seemed to further the silence in the room, though it never grew uncomfortable and eventually Hermione felt relaxed enough to pick up a book of her own. 

As it grew later, Hermione toed off her trainers and, still fully clothed though she had taken off her sweatshirt, slipped into her old bed.  Severus, by a completely non-verbal agreement, had transfigured her armchair into another bed that fit along the opposite wall.  As Hermione had known that both of her parents had made it to work the day that they were attacked, neither felt that a watch needed to be posted while they slept.  Even knowing this, though, Hermione couldn’t sleep.  Any time that she heard one of the pipes creak, it made her flinch and her heart rate race, though she knew her fears were unfounded.

“I placed a temporary ward around the property,” a low voice came from across the room and Hermione jumped before propping herself up on an elbow to look over at Severus.  “No one will enter this house without us knowing it first.”

Hermione could barely make out his form on the other side of the room.  All she could see was a body on its side, which she assumed was facing the door and thus her.  Hermione lowered herself back down to the bed, rolling on her side to face the door, tucking one hand under her chin as the other nervously grabbed her wand under her pillow.  She could hear him shift a bit on the other side of the room, every sound seeming to echo in her ears.  She wondered when he would fall asleep, or even if he would.  She knew that he barely slept on good nights.  Her ears seemed to strain for any sound from him, but when all she could make out was his even breathing, she eventually fell asleep.

Something had woken her.  Hermione shifted a bit in her bed.  It took a few moments for her to remember where she was.  Once she had, from her small cocoon of blankets, she could make out a slightly blue light.  Shifting a bit, she propped herself up on an elbow to peer over at the Slytherin who had transfigured his bed into a reclining armchair which her old chair had definitely not been.  Her glass jar once again held a flickering blue fire on the arm of the chair with enough light for her to see his face, looking unnaturally pale in the blue light, and make out the silhouette of the book that he was reading.

She knew the text.  It was an anthology of English literature.  Her mum had gotten it for her the summer after her fifth year in the hopes that she would take summer classes so that she might be able to test into Muggle university.  She had read it, or at least selections from it, as a break from her work on contingency plans.  It had been hard to explain to her parents the direness of their situation and she had then decided to let them live in ignorance, vowing to still protect them no matter what.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” his whisper came, carrying in the stillness of the room.

He hadn’t looked at her, but somehow she knew that she now had all of his attention.  The room seemed to hold in it a magical quality, one in which whispers were needed to not disturb the shadows or the stillness and Severus Snape spoke gently.

“You’re not asleep,” Hermione said, as quietly as he had, her sleep-fogged mind not giving her anything more intelligent to say.

Black eyes looked up at her, narrowed, before he seemed to sigh so minutely that she heard nothing, “No,” was all he said.  “Go back to sleep.  You need it.”

Hermione shifted up a bit before slumping back into her pillow with a sigh, “What are you reading?”

Instead of answering, he merely started to read,

“Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,’/said then the lost Archangel, ‘this the seat/That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom/For that celestial light?  Be it so, since he/Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid/What shall be right: farthest from him is best/Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme/Above his equals.  Farewell, happy fields,/Where joy ever dwells!” Hermione’s eyes, which had been closing, opened abruptly at the bitterness creeping into his whispering voice.

“Hail, horrors! Hail,/Infernal world! And thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor—one who brings/A mind not to be changed by place or time./The mind is its own place, and in itself/Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.”

Hermione’s eyes drifted shut again as he continued to read, “What matter where, if I be still the same,/And what I should be, all but less that he/Whom thunder hath made greater?  Here at least/We shall be free; th’Almighty hath not built/ Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:/Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,/To reign is worth ambitions, though in Hell:/Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven…’”  As sleep eventually claimed her with his hypnotizing voice in her ears, Hermione had one last mental image of Satan’s fall from grace with Severus’s face.

When Hermione finally woke, there were movements downstairs and her ears could pick up the clinking of plates and silverware.  The revelation almost made her sit bolt upright with a dose of adrenaline as her heart started to pound and her stomach started to twist as the reality of where she was and what she would be doing hit her hard.  Looking around, she saw Severus had abandoned the armchair, which he had transfigured back to its original state, and was now sitting in her desk chair.

“What time is it?” Hermione asked, pushing back the covers and sitting up, blearily wiping at her eyes.

“8:00 in the morning,” came the curt reply before he continued in a rather nasty tone.  “I do hope you enjoyed your lie in.  Some of us on this mad adventure have been busy already for nearly two hours.”

Hermione took a deep breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes even though he wouldn’t be able to see, and very carefully sighed it out.  Though it had definitely not been his intention, his nasty mood had brought down her anxiety considerably and made her more tired and irritable.  Instead of rising to his mood, she went for the travel robes that were currently hanging in her closet with some of her spare clothes that she had left here.  Rummaging about for the right pocket, she tore open a string that she had used to seal it shut and removed a rather large thermos.

Walking over to her desk, Hermione let the thermos hit the wood with a small thump. “Here,” she said, exhausted and wishing her parents would leave quickly so that she could go and make some tea downstairs. “Don’t be a snarky git.”  

Rubbing her eyes, Hermione let herself collapse into the armchair.  She attributed her rather cavalier attitude towards his behavior as part weariness, and the other part was just having gotten used to him.  If he had actually minded her sleeping longer than him, he would have woken her, and frankly she was too tired to take any of his shite.  It was the first time she had dared insult him out loud though, like a friend.  The smell of fresh coffee behind her told her that he hadn’t cared about the insult, or at least hadn’t cared enough to refuse a thermos full of the best coffee house elves could procure.

As Hermione let her head fall against the back of her armchair, she kept her eyes closed as the anxiety in her stomach began to rage again.  Her mind kept reminding her that her parents would have a full day at work, safe, but it didn’t matter.  It made the waiting so much worse.

“Did you happen to have a full breakfast spread in stasis there?” Severus asked from beside her.

Hermione cracked her eyes open to look at him.  He should have looked uncomfortable and it was still a shock seeing all that black in the light colors of her old room, but he looked confident as he cradling his mug of coffee and leaning the desk chair slightly back.  Her brain momentarily thought of what would happen if he leaned too far back and fell and she quickly closed her eyes again to stifle laughter at the sight of a prone Snape on her bedroom floor.

“Unfortunately not a hot breakfast,” Hermione said, trying to still wake up and quell her nerves at the same time. “Couldn’t fit a full fry-up in the robes unfortunately with all the other lovely gadgets.”

“More sandwiches,” Severus said and Hermione could feel his lip curling.

“And whatever Mum and Dad have downstairs,” Hermione said, listening to the sounds of her parents getting ready to leave.  So much of her wanted to run downstairs and throw her arms around them before they left and thinking that only made her anxiety rise again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you drew blood soon; that really is a terrible habit,” Severus said from behind her, making her sit up and look at him incredulously as she heard the door downstairs close behind her parents.

“Pardon?” she asked slightly, dumbfounded, her teeth releasing the lip she hadn’t even realised she was biting. 

“The plan has been thought out to the best of both of our abilities.  There is no need to put your teeth through your lips,” he said before finishing off the remains of coffee in his cup and setting it down with what came very close to a flourish.  “If you wouldn’t mind taking the first watch, I’ll just be minutes.”

Standing, he nodded curtly to her and left the room.  Hermione wasn’t sure if she should have been angry or annoyed, but he just left her feeling dumbfounded.  She just never knew where she stood with the man.  He had been courteous, irritable, sarcastic, humorous, kind, and then sometimes downright mean to her, all within the short span of months they had been living together.  She still wasn’t sure where the line was drawn as to where she fit in the puzzle they had been laying out together, though she definitely knew she now considered him a friend.  It was nearly impossible to tell if he felt the same however.

Craning around, she saw the short stack of books that he had selected, the Norton anthology being one of them, then there was a Muggle textbook about the chemistry of herbs and a small collection of poetry by Emily Dickinson.  Hermione couldn’t help smiling, leaning back and relaxing in her chair as she remembered his voice, reading to her in the middle of the night.  It still barely felt real.  She hadn’t thought that the voice that had so inspired awe, terror, and respect from her school days could be also used like that.  For a brief moment, her mind decided to conjure up an image of his mouth, close to her ear with that voice and she shivered involuntarily.

Somewhere inside her, she felt like the bottom of her ribs dropped open and her heart had fallen down beneath her stomach.  She sat there, eyes wide, slightly in shock, as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating.  No.  Her hands gripped the arms of the armchair, digging into it rather desperately as her mind rebelled against the image that had made it into her traitorous mind.  Try as she might, all she could do was flashback to his voice, whispering John Milton to her in the middle of the night.  He had had the voice of an actor, speaking with all of the emotion and inflection that she would have suspected a fallen angel would have had, resigning himself to a new Hellish existence.  It had been hypnotic, it had made her feel…

“I would certainly pay money to know what caused the insufferable know-it-all of Gryffindor to look that dumbstruck,” came the  _ voice _ from the doorway, cleaning off his freshly shaven face with one of her parent’s towels.  “I’m truly glad there wasn’t an incident because I doubt you would have known the Carrows were here until they tripped over you in that state.”

Hermione couldn’t help it.  She stood quickly, her face definitely on fire, as she muttered a quick ‘excuse me’ as she dashed past him and into the hall bathroom.  Closing the door with a snap behind her, she quickly closed the lid on the toilet and sat, stunned at herself.

It was impossible.  He didn’t have a sexy voice.  She hadn’t just thought about how sexy his voice was, with not a care that it had been used to insult her.  Her face grew hot as she thought back to the first time he had said her first name and her eyes widened even further as she remembered her immediate reaction.  No, his voice was definitely not sexy.  That hadn’t been what she had reacted to.  She hadn’t just admitted it to herself.  Looking at her hands in front of her she realized they were shaking ever so slightly.  She wanted to say that it was because she hadn’t eaten yet, but she knew that it wasn’t true.  No matter the amount of lies that she was telling herself, she wasn’t believing any of them. 

Her eyes fell on her ring and the heat in her face immediately turned to shame.  She shouldn’t have had those kinds of thoughts about anyone.  She was engaged, for God’s sake.  In her head though, she could barely piece together Ron’s voice.  And what was worse! The only time she could accurately recall his voice was when he had yelled her name somewhere in his awkward teens and that was definitely not something she should be thinking about right now, not when the one she was comparing it to was like liquid sin.

Hermione groaned quietly to herself as she leaned over and covered her face with her hands.  How could she have even thought that?  And now that she had, how was she going to un-think it?  Hell, how was she going to have a bloody conversation with the man.  She was mad, touched in the head, mental, completely barmy.  These were not things an engaged woman was supposed to be doing.  She had said yes.  She had chosen Ron.  She was going to marry Ron.  Her hands slid into her hair and made fists in it, gently tugging a bit at the roots as she made another small groan that was closer to a whimper this time.  All she could do now was suffer under the replays in her head of Severus Snape’s voice.  And at this point, she had a lot of material.

When she had finally recovered enough to leave the bathroom, she had gone back into the bedroom where Severus was blissfully absent, though he had taken his coffee thermos with him.  Swallowing hard, she quickly took her spare clothes, a red knit jumper and jeans, as well as clean undergarments, into the bathroom with her again as she showered as quickly as she could, considering she was trying to stall as much as humanly possible as she tried to come up with a plan.

It made no difference if she had a problem with his voice, Hermione finally decided.  It didn’t mean anything.  There was something wrong with that argument, but she refused to listen to contradictory facts as she tried to figure out a way to mask it.  It was the perfect environment.  She could chalk any strange reaction up to stress and anxiety about the day’s plans.  Ron, think of Ron, she reminded herself. 

But the problem was, every time she thought of her future husband, it was only in reference to how worried she was about his eventual reaction to what she had done.  Hermione knew that Ron would hate that she had saved Severus, as opposed to anyone else.   He had never liked him.  But if he knew, if she explained, about how she had ripped time itself to save him, potentially denying other Rons their Hermiones… If he knew, she knew that there would be a row to end all rows.  And that was without admitting to essentially living with another man for nearly an entire year, much less Snape, when she had refused to even think about living with him.  And so now, whenever she thought of him, it was always with a strange trepidation that she couldn’t shake, which led to thinking of him less and less.

Hermione knew that she couldn’t blame Ron for any of this.  She would definitely be blaming herself, she knew, as she threw her old clothes in one of the traveling robe’s pockets to take back with them.  But then, she hadn’t done anything wrong.  It didn’t matter if she had accidentally admitted to herself what she had been denying since her third year at Hogwarts when Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil had both discovered boys.  They would wax poetic about everyone in sight, up to and including the Potions Master.  Hermione had been so violently against it, no matter what they said about his voice, that they had teased her almost mercilessly. Even so, she hadn’t admitted it, not even to herself.  It was damn Milton’s fault, she fumed as she closed her closet door a bit too loudly.  A hiss interrupted her musing, and she turned to look down at her cat who was staring up at her in apparent annoyance for slamming her closet door.

“Sorry, Crookshanks,” Hermione said, walking over and squatting down beside him, rubbing his ears.  “No more loud noises for now.  Though you might want to hide in a few hours.  There’s going to be a firefight and I don’t want you in the middle.”

He looked at her, “I’m serious,” she continued.  “My flat’s empty.  The other me is at work and then will be Flooing directly to the Burrow.  Would you mind terribly hiding out there for me until this is over?”

He bumped the hand still scratching his ears so that her fingers were better positioned to scratch behind his head and it made her laugh.

“I hope that’s a yes,” Hermione said with a bit of a chuckle, “I couldn’t take losing you.”

The cat seemed to seriously consider her for a moment before walking over to the closet door and beginning to scratch at it.  Frowning, Hermione stood, walked to the closet and opened it for him.  Crookshanks entered and found where the traveling robe was hanging before he started pacing underneath it, rubbing his back against the hem and Hermione laughed again.

“Yes, you silly cat,” Hermione said affectionately, “Then you can come back with us.”

Crookshanks actually made her move downstairs when she hesitated in the doorway.  He bumped against the back of her legs to make her move.  Severus had apparently been at work in the kitchen and it shocked her with how many memories it brought back to the tent when they had shared meals over the summer.  The kettle started whistling almost as soon as she entered, and she could help but smile as she watched him stirring something in a pan while reaching over to turn off the heat.  Heat threatened to fire up once again in her cheeks as somehow she felt that her smiling and being comfortable in this type of scene was now yet another small betrayal of her relationship with Ron.

“Your books indicate a variety of interests in Muggle disciplines,” Severus said when it became clear that Hermione was not going to initiate their conversations as she was typically wont to do.

Hermione nodded, using her cup of tea as a shield to avoid looking at him.  His voice was continuing to do strange things to her stomach that she didn’t seem able to control, “My parents had intentions of sending me to Muggle university,” she said finally, still avoiding eye contact, “Instead I ended up discovering the syllabi and texts for my own personal research.  I’m sure I would have been able to test in, but I never seemed to have the time.”

The truth of the matter was that Hermione had given up such dreams when she had entered the Ministry of Magic and had not really ever thought of it again, but for the rare occasion when her Gran would give her annual interrogation of her career and prospects.  Now, at 24, she would have to apply as a mature student with some of the educational requirements waived.  A law degree from Cambridge… she could imagine her parents’ delight.  It might help with Falcona’s idea of joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Regulation too, now that she thought of it.

“Truly?” Severus said with something of a derisive snort in his voice, “The unquenchable thirst for knowledge has been sated?  You have so much free time that you were able to balance preparation for this quest alongside your Ministry position, but nothing so trivial as Muggle academics?”

“I believe that was yet another Slytherin attempt at a compliment to my academic abilities,” Hermione said as she stood to take her plate to the dishwasher.

“Something that is normally completely lost on Gryffindors,” Severus said, making Hermione turn to look at him as she smothered a smile, seeing him in his full smirking glory.

Hermione turned around quickly as her stomach threatened to turn the eggs over in her stomach.  She would not stare at his mouth.  Movement behind her barely registered until he was directly behind her, placing his cup on the top rack, his body close enough that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.  Quickly, she moved out of range, away and out of the kitchen.  The rest of the day was spent with Hermione staying away and avoiding eye contact with what she thought was a subtle approach, though she knew that it was futile.  In their preparations and double-checks, Severus seemed oddly on the same line of thought as she.  When she checked the light fixture for the second time, he didn’t comment or degrade her paranoia as he thought she might, he simply stood too close to ‘make sure that she wouldn’t mess it up.’  It only unnerved her and served to make her even more hyper aware of his presence.

Through it all, her eyes kept watching the clock.  Around noon they both ate the remainders of their packed lunch, though Hermione had to practically choke it down around the lump of anxiety in her throat and the nerves of her stomach.  Severus spoke very little, though she caught him watching her enough times that it only served to heighten her nervousness.

At four o’clock, they went to their positions.  Crookshanks left through his enchanted cat flap after bumping both her hand and Severus’s shins with instructions not to reappear until six o’clock.  Severus and Hermione cast Disillusionment charms on themselves as they retreated to the top of the stairs.  Severus stood immobile at the top of the stairs, while Hermione paced.

“The charm loses all effectiveness if you move like that,” Severus said in a low whisper.

Hermione stopped moving, pressing her back against the wall, closing her eyes and tilting her head back.  Her stomach was rolling so unpleasantly that it made her regret eating lunch even though there was probably nothing left in her stomach by now.  She thought she was going to throw up.  She knew the plan but she just wanted it to be over so badly.

The door opening made her jump up and slowly walk to the head of the stairs beside Severus.  Her mother was putting her coat away and trading her shoes for slippers.  She hadn’t realized that she was trembling until there was a steadying hand on her forearm.  It was strangely more comforting that he only touched her with some of the tips of his fingers because the rest of his hand was curled around his wand.  She took a steadying breath and realized that she had lost time in her nervousness because her father had come home too.  She looked towards Severus, though she couldn’t see his face, just a brief shimmer, and she swallowed hard.  The fingers tapped her reassuringly and he let his wand lay over her arm.

Mere minutes later, her heart was pounding in her ears, she heard her mother putting the kettle on the stovetop.  Hermione couldn’t make out anything that her parents were saying, barely registering that they were speaking, when she felt Severus’s wand vibrate against her forearm.  The dormant ward had been tripped.  They were coming.

Severus had warned her that depending on the state of the street outside, they could either blast their way in or... the front door opened and her trembling increased.  In stepped two creatures straight out of her nightmares.  Amycus entered her house, the sneer of malicious glee on his disgusting face twisting his features into something less than human.  Alecto followed, her face cold and emotionless except for her clear blue eyes that had a mania in them that immediately struck such terror into Hermione that all the hair on her body stood on end.  Dressed in black, they moved so silently into the house, they seemed as serpent-like as their old master had been, though she knew logically that it was because of the numerous spells that clung to their bodies.  Silencing charms, muggle repelling charms, all manner of which made even her want to look away from them.

Hermione could hear her parents in the kitchen as she watched the siblings stalk out of the front room and into her living room.  Severus tapped her wrist two times and then proceeded her slightly down the stairs.  This of course was the riskier part of their endeavor.  Severus was going to go first as he had the most practice at moving unnoticed while still under a dissillusionment charm.  The purpose though was two-fold.  Hermione hadn’t been sure she would have been able to remain still after the curses began to fly and so Severus was there to moderate the scene below and judge when would be the best time for them to move in.

A startled scream followed by the breaking of china made Hermione flinch and shut her eyes, even though it was impossible for her to see anything.  A raspy voice was making noise downstairs, followed by a higher pitched laugh.  For some reason her brain was just refusing to process the words.  She trusted Severus, she kept chanting in her head as sweat began to coat her palms.  Transferring her wand to her left hand, she quickly wiped her right on her jeans before grasping it again with tense fingers and white knuckles.

A scream keened throughout her house and Hermione almost screamed herself, barely stopping herself from plugging her ears with her fingers.  Eventually it stopped, only to be replaced by more slightly mad giggling, and more of the voices.  Begging, they were begging, she could tell.  Tears rose in her eyes as the next curse hit and she heard another scream, her father this time.  Hermione squared her shoulders.  Any second.  Any second now.

_ BANG!! _

Hermione didn’t think, merely Apparated, the Dissillusionment Charm failing under her Apparition and the movement.  Her wand was out, ready, pointed at the Carrows.  Her living room was on fire, the flashbang having served its purpose of destruction and setting off the wards that crashed around her home seconds after she had Apparated.  Her mind had mere seconds to take in the scene.  Her mother was gasping, panting, terrified on the floor against the far wall.  Her father had obviously just fallen from a height as he was now on top of the ruined broken heap of a coffee table.  Amycus Carrow was standing over her mother, though his eyes were wide, staring at her.  His sister Alecto, in some parody of a kid at Christmas, was standing on her parents’ sofa, staring down at her dad.

It took only seconds to register all of this, before Hermione flicked her wand at the couch causing the trap to spring just behind Alecto Carrow’s legs with an explosive  _ BANG _ that sent the witch flying forward, her head hitting the mantle of the fireplace.  A flash of green light behind her barely registered, she trusted Severus to deal with Amycus, before she shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and Alecto’s wand flew into her left hand.  Her adrenaline was still dangerously high and she trembled where she stood, though her wand hand remained steady, pointing directly at the prone woman’s heart.

Alecto rose unsteadily to her feet, blood pouring from a wound on her head, practically tripping over her father’s body.  From the corner of her vision, she saw her dad, scrambling backwards as quickly as he could, but she barely registered it.  All she could see, past the blood pounding in her head, tunneling her vision, was Alecto’s face as she registered everything around her.  

Stumbling over a broken table leg, Alecto glanced around.  When her eyes found Severus, something changed, a strange grin overcoming her slightly dumbfounded expression.  And then she saw Amycus.  Her brain obviously could not comprehend how a years old ally turned traitor, her brother dead on the floor, and a mudblood’s parents were connected.  Hermione could practically see her brain working.  It truly took her longer than anyone ever should have before the light finally dawned.

“Y-you?” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Me,” Severus said with a smile that was equal parts sneer and humor.  Hermione took her eyes off Alecto for just that moment to see the squaring of his shoulders, the triumph and pride in his eyes.

It was the final lifting of his head in challenge that sent her over the edge.  Alecto shrieked, wordlessly charging Severus, not seeming to care that a still smoldering sofa was in between her and her prey.  Her hands were outstretched like claws that she wanted to wrap around his throat.  Hermione was stunned momentarily, not expecting her to have gone charging through still burning fabric, but Severus was not.

“Avada Kedavra,” he cast, the green light blasting from his wand hitting her square in the chest and dropping her to the floor behind the couch.

The adrenaline that had been sustaining her abruptly cut off and her legs felt like they had been hit by a Jelly Legs Jinx.  Her left hand flew out to the wall to support herself.  Slightly in shock, she looked at her parents.  Her dad had made his way to her mum who was crying and shaking uncontrollably.  Severus looked uncomfortable now that the deed was done and the Carrows were two lumps on the floor, the bottom of Alecto’s robes still smoldering and giving off smoke from where they had caught the edge of the blown up sofa.

Whatever had been holding her back abruptly released and she ran forward to her parents, her eyes streaming tears as she half-fell, half-crawled to her parents on the floor.  Together, the Grangers clung tight to each other and cried. 

When the family eventually surfaced, after much eye wiping, Severus had moved both of the Carrows’ bodies from the room.  The man himself was standing against one of the few walls that was still covered a bit in shadows, his arms crossed over his chest and hair hanging rather limply in front of his face.

“How did you get here?” her dad eventually asked, putting a kiss to Hermione’s hand that he had still been holding.

“I Apparated,” Hermione said, still sniffing through tears.

“How?  How did you know?” her mum said, her hands running over Hermione’s face, brushing away a spare tear.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Severus interrupted, “We received information that your house would be targeted.”

Three heads turned as one to the man leaning against the wall.  His face was such a cold mask that Hermione almost didn’t recognize him.  With a start, she realized exactly how much these months alone with him had changed him.  His hair was back across his face, his eyes were hard and glinting black in what little light there was, and everything about his posture screamed ‘do not touch’.

“And who are you?” Mr. Granger asked, a strength in his voice that had been missing since this whole encounter began.

“Mum, Dad,” Hermione said, standing and helping her parents to their feet, “This is Severus Snape.  He was a professor at Hogwarts.”

Both of her parents turned to him with calculating expressions on their faces.  Hermione could see their minds racing as they remembered everything that they had heard about her school teachers.  Her mother’s eyes grew hard before they relaxed as she took a slow breath in and out.  Obviously her father had remembered something else because there was a respect in his eyes.

“It is an honor to meet you Professor Snape,” her father said, taking a limping step forward and extending his hand.

Evidently this was not the reception Severus had expected and it seemed to have shocked him.  For a moment, Hermione was worried that he wouldn’t detach from the wall and would leave her father’s hand in the open air.  Slowly he moved, crossing the room and shaking his hand.  He bowed, small, short, and quick in her mother’s direction.

“We should move,” he said curtly.

“Where?” Mrs. Granger asked, before her voice turned frightened, “Are there more of them?  Are we in danger?”

“Not at the present moment madame,” Severus said and it took a strong effort of will to keep Hermione from raising her eyebrows, “But I fear there soon will be.  I know that it is much to ask, but we need you and your husband to go into hiding once more.  I know that it is a terrible burden.  I would not ask it if I did not think it necessary to your daughter’s well-being.”

Hermione took a moment to marvel at his words, none of which were a lie, that somehow managed to omit most of the truth.  Somewhere in this exchange, Hermione’s mother had started looking between her daughter and the former Potions professor with yet another calculating look.  Hermione wasn’t at all sure that she knew why, but she did know that her mother had a very strong gift for reading people.  Unfortunately, she couldn’t take a very long time to consider it.

“Accio case,” she said, flicking her wand at the stairs.

A traveling case came whizzing down the stairs and into her arms.  It had been so easy to replicate the procedures of nearly six years ago.  It had made her slightly sick to do it, but recreating papers and identification for Wendell and Monica Wilkins had been so easy.

“There’s money and passports,” Hermione explained handing her father the case.

Her father looked slightly alarmed and drew back, taking her mother’s hand as he did so, “You’re not going to…”

“No!” Hermione said quickly and a bit too loudly, tears springing to her eyes again at the thought, “No.  Your memories don’t have to be touched.  It’s only until April!  April 21 st .  Well, to play it safe, April 22 nd .”

The Grangers exchanged worried looks.

“Six months,” Mr. Granger whispered looking sadly at his wife.  “Hermione, are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, “But at least this time we’ll be able to write!  And I could…visit.  It’s just that you’d have to pick somewhere besides Australia this time.”

Mrs. Granger looked at her husband who smiled bravely back and said, “I think we’ll travel then.  Make a holiday of it.”

Hermione hugged them both tightly, clinging to them for a few blessed moments until a voice behind her interrupted. 

“Perhaps, Miss Granger, if you would give them a head start,” Severus said coolly, “We do not have much time until some rather meddlesome Aurors will arrive, and I believe there needs to be a bit more destruction as I recall for them to clean up.”

“Would you mind flying out of Dublin?” Hermione asked, turning to her parents.

After Hermione had settled her parents on a plane headed for somewhere in the south of France, her return home was slightly slower.  Side-Along Apparating with her parents had been more exhausting than she had admitted to them and she had had to modify several Muggle memories on her way through the airport when anyone questioned her going through security.  There had also been the small matter of getting her parents tickets when they weren’t booked on the flight, so she unfortunately had to strand one Muggle couple at the airport for their seats.  She made sure that she gave them money for new tickets.  It had made her feel terrible, and there were about half a dozen laws she had broken, but thankfully there were no other witches or wizards around.  No sane witch or wizard would take a plane when there were plenty of Portkeys, brooms, Floos, or Apparition points to be had.

When she had finally stumbled through the Floo into her bedroom, she was exhausted.  Finding a connected Floo in Ireland hadn’t been all that difficult, thankfully, because she hadn’t wanted to risk her face being seen in either Muggle London or Diagon Alley.  Severus was sitting in his chair when she entered, a large book on his knee that he was using as a desk.  A sheet of parchment that was covered with black scrawl, though Hermione was far too exhausted to even ask what he was working on, was laid across it.  He frowned as she passed him to sit at the table, grateful that Daniel was as wonderfully competent as he was and she probably wouldn’t have long to wait.

Minutes later a steaming hot shepherd's pie appeared on a plate before her and she tucked in with relief.  Seconds after that, a small saucer of cream and a bowl of fresh kippers appeared at her elbow.  As if summoned by the scent, Hermione felt a familiar presence running his sides across her legs and she pushed her chair back in delight.

“You made it,” she crooned low to the cat, reaching down and petting his ears before putting the bowls on the floor for him.

“As if he would have stayed behind,” came a low sarcastic retort from the chair by the fire which made her smile, followed almost immediately by a frown.  He had brought her cat because they had agreed to.  There was no reason for her chest to warm at the thought.  She immediately turned back to her food.

As Hermione ate, her thoughts drifted to all that had transpired.  The fight had ended so much quicker than either had anticipated.  The element of surprise had worked highly in their favor, just like Severus had said.  Even when Alecto had realized that they had been there, it had taken so long for her to actually act when it should have been instinct to at least throw a curse or  _ something. _

“Would you have…” Hermione began, making Severus look up and she stopped, taking a breath before she continued, “Would you have used the Killing Curse if I hadn’t told you about the spell traces beforehand?”

Severus set down his quill and folded his hands in his lap.  He looked more comfortable now than he had at her parents’ house.  He still had on his full black, but he had relaxed the top buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, leaving his neck slightly bared at the top, though he hadn’t relaxed his sleeves at all.  They still covered his whole arms and half his hands.  Hermione’s gaze traveled down to his now laced fingers and she swallowed hard as she looked away and back to her food.  She would deal with this logically, she thought frantically, and not now.

“Perhaps,” Severus said finally.  “I still believe that the Killing Curse was too good for them, but I truly would have felt uncomfortable drawing out their deaths in front of your parents.”

“I always wondered about that,” Hermione commented, “I even did more extensive research in my fourth year trying to figure out why that one was placed under the Unforgiveable category in 1717.  I mean, yes it kills someone, but if you use a slicing hex to decapitate someone, isn’t that murder just as unforgiveable?  Or a Flesh Turning curse?  That’s just as deadly and certainly more painful.  Imagine living with your insides, outside, even for only seconds.”

Hermione shuddered.

“It is a forgotten piece of lore, discovered by wizards in the late 17 th century,” Severus said. His voice was quiet and contemplative. “Someone had stumbled upon the research that had gone into creating it.  It was a coven of dark wizards and witches that had been attempting to find a way to, not destroy a life, but to destroy a soul.”

Hermione choked slightly on her food.

Severus didn’t look up as he continued, though there was a small frown beginning to form between his eyebrows and severe tension around his eyes, “The words translate closest to ‘let the thing be destroyed.’  The ‘thing’ they attempted to destroy, was the soul.  Imagine.  The middle ages were superstitious times.  Priests running amok about saving souls from damnation.”

He scoffed, disgusted. “And the first thoughts of these dark wizards and witches were of their victims.  What did it matter if they tortured countless Muggles or killed their own kind?  It would simply make them martyrs and ensure their salvation.  So they set off to destroy this ‘soul’ that priests claimed would live forever in paradise after death if they were good throughout their life.”

Hermione felt hot and cold all at once.  It was one thing to talk about a soul in a Muggle philosophy or religion course, but she knew the wizarding world.  They had Dementors and Horcruxes and all manner of things that proved that their bodies were not simply flesh and blood, but something more.

“Do you believe they did it?” she asked quietly, “Is that what the curse does?”

Severus closed his eyes, but not before a small wince chased its way across his face.  “I am not sure.  I have done extensive research into the topic, but could not prove it one way or the other. Unfortunately, that will only be a question I can answer after it is too late to tell anyone,” he continued, his expression pained, “I can tell you that the two most powerful wizards of my acquaintance believed it.  And that I have yet to find a single ghost of someone that has been killed by it.”

Hermione felt slightly sick, but then she had a thought, “But, the resurrection stone!  Harry saw his parents! And Sirius and Professor Lupin.”

If possible, Severus looked worse, “And they were all killed by?”

Hermione felt worse, “But Sirius, he…” she trailed off, remembering.  Bellatrix had cast the Killing Curse that had caused him to fall through the Veil.  They had never been able to tell which had killed him.  All four had been killed by the Killing Curse.

“Albus thought that the curse upon the ring had kept him from seeing his sister again when he put it on,” Severus said quietly, “I believe it was unsuccessful because the stone will only conjure those whose souls were taken by the Curse.  And their souls would only exist while the Stone was held.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly with one hand before letting his head fall back against the cushion as he continued to speak in a tone that showed how exhausted this particular topic made him, as if he had thought of every angle, and, although he answered her, nothing would change his mind, “The timing is close, if records and legends are to be believed.  The first record of the Hallows came around the same time as the Killing Curse.”

“And so when the second brother created it…” Hermione thought, imagining with horror the thought of trying to save someone’s soul.

“He was probably trying to pull back a soul from destruction.  And killed himself at the futility of the attempt,” Severus said, rolling up the parchment on his lap, and moving to stand.

“Wait,” Hermione said and he paused, looking at her warily, “You used it on Professor Dumbledore,” revelation struck, “He asked you to use it.”

Severus nodded slowly as if slightly afraid of what she would say or accuse him of, but Hermione was thinking faster than that.  Dumbledore was one of those who believed the rumor about the Curse.  He had asked Severus to use it.  He believed in the existence of the soul.  Both she and Harry had learned all about his past.

“That bloody bastard,” Hermione said emphatically, anger momentarily chasing away the horror that this conversation had invoked. “He was a coward.”

Severus raised his eyebrows in mild astonishment as Hermione began to violently stab into her food with her fork, “He didn’t want to face judgement for all of his machinations, did he?”  _ stab, stab, _ “Wanted to know that when he died it would be over, did he?”  _ stab _ , “Made you do it, knowing what you both knew?”  _ stab _ , “Bloody,”  _ stab _ , “fucking,”  _ stab,  _ “coward.”

So latched onto her anger as she was, Hermione barely noticed Severus leaving.  She had once had fantasies of her eventually dying and getting to interrogate the real Dumbledore about all of his command decisions, not just his portrait’s view of them and now she wouldn’t get to.  Her fingers itched in anger.  He had made Severus kill him, destroy his soul, and then left him to live with that knowledge?  Bastard.  No wonder the curse took so much out of a person.  No wonder it was the best to use when creating Horcruxes.  It was all soul magic.

It wasn’t until later that the full implications of everything that had been said sunk in.  When it had, Hermione was happy she had eaten when she was still furious, because all she was now was miserable.  Severus had done research because he had wondered what had become of Lily Potter, maiden name Evans, hoping desperately that it hadn’t been true.  No wonder that he had clung so desperately to her memory if memory would be the last thing of her that existed.  Hermione sat, huddled in her chair by the fire for hours after that, her lap full of purring cat, unable to sleep, thinking about how all the ways she was going to have to avoid telling Harry.

 


	23. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the best beta in the world. Never lets me get lazy.

_ "It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be." - Albus Dumbledore _

The next morning came too slowly.  Hermione had slept fitfully the entire night, tossing and turning so much that Crooks had jumped from the bed a little after 1 am and hadn’t returned.  Half of her dreams were of nightmarish visions of green lights and masked monsters and the other had been dreams she had barely remembered, but had contained voices that gave her shivers and fingers across her skin that had made her tremble.

Throwing the covers off finally at seven in the morning, Hermione was relieved the bathroom was free because somehow, even in October in Scotland, she had woken covered in sweat.  She was working tangles out of her hair as she started mulling over the conversation from the previous night.  Soul destruction.  That explained the only true defense was a Horcrux, because at least part of the soul was out of the body.  But did that stand to reason that there couldn’t be a defense for it?  Some kind of shield?  Dementors used the same overall tactic and the Patronus Charm worked as a defense.

Her brush clattered to her dresser through limp fingers.  That was it!  Hermione jumped up, forgetting that she was still in pyjamas and a dressing gown, with her hair doubtlessly frizzing considerably after only half being brushed.  She hastily wound an elastic around it as she practically ran to the door in her exuberance to share the possibility.  But when she whipped open the door, Hermione stopped dead.

Severus’s face was flushed, nostrils flaring, his eyes flashing and his hair a wild mess.  He was pointing a threatening finger at Daniel before him, but arrested the movement as his eyes looked up to see her.  Daniel whirled around, his eyes wide in fear.  Evidently the house elf saw something he liked though, because the fear was gone in an instant and he squared his tiny shoulders before vanishing with a small  _ pop! _

“I…,” Hermione had been about to start talking about her revelation, but with the way Severus was looking at her now she suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious.  She looked down, re-crossing the sides of her dressing gown to more thoroughly cover herself.  When she looked back, Severus had stood back up, though his face was still flushed with whatever argument he had been having with Daniel.  “Why do you constantly let him anger you like that?”

Severus’s eyes flashed again and she saw the cords in his neck snap with tension and he turned away from her as he answered, “I would thank you very much, Miss Granger, to mind your own damn business.”

“As has been established previously,” Hermione said, completely letting herself rise to the bait, “It  _ is _ my business.   _ Severus. _ And I do believe we had  _ also _ established that we were on a first name basis.  Now is it the lack of common manners that you continuously forget?  Or is it a sign of memory loss?”

Hermione barely bit off the last question before she could pepper it with some sort of meanness like “due to old age” or “from skulking around the dungeons and their various molds for so many years”.  Her tone had been anger and her volume had matched, but she truly wasn’t angry at him, not really.  Shockingly, Daniel had been right for her as well.  Reaching for anger was a good way to mask how she really was feeling.  Her treacherous brain had finally connected to the insane feelings swirling inside her.  She couldn’t help wondering if seeing him flushed with anger would be similar to… No.  Best to stop that.  Her anger turned genuine as she aimed it at herself and she crossed her arms with a frown.

Evidently, that was the perfect thing to say to cut through his anger.  Severus straightened his shoulders with a smirk that was definitely condescending, condescending, not sexy she reminded herself, and walked to the table and drew out her chair with a small bow in her direction.  The wide sweeping motion of his arm showing that he did it at least in exaggeration if not outright mockery.

“Far be it from me to neglect common courtesy,  _ Hermione _ ,” he said, making her frown harder at him and narrow her eyes.  She was positively clinging to her anger to keep from reflecting on what her first name in his voice was doing to her right now.

Hermione’s mental coach spun out her two options rapid fire.  Option one was boring, and a bit mean, so she went for two.  Lifting her head, she let her arms fall to her sides as she walked over to him like she was the reigning queen of England.  Acting haughty as a Malfoy with her nose in the air, Hermione perched herself delicately on the edge of the chair he was holding out for her and spread the end of her dressing gown like it was one of the Victorian-looking skirts that Daniel had procured for her.

“Thank you,” she said, delicately over her shoulder before turning her nose up again, “It’s truly about time.”

Severus huffed a laugh from behind her and it completely ruined her facade as she grinned.  He came around and sat across from her, the smirk having transformed into a small genuine smile that had the smallest traces of a laugh in it still.

“Severus Snape,” Hermione said, pouring the tea that had just appeared, “Laughing.  Someone might mistake you for human if you keep doing that.”

“If you tickle us, do we not laugh?” Severus said, the smirk back now but it had all the feeling of a smile because his eyes were now downright sparkling with it.

“If you poison us, do we not die?” Hermione quoted back to him with a grin.

“If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?  If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that,” Severus continued, as Hermione thought quickly back to the play she had seen with her parents to remember the next lines.

“If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge!” Hermione said, grinning and warming to the game.

“If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be, by Christian example? Why, revenge.  The villainy you teach me I will execute – and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction,” Severus said, dark eyes flashing as he leaned over the table.

Hermione opened her mouth, but then let it close.  She couldn’t remember what the next line was.  She wasn’t sure there was one so she said, “Well taught and well read, however will I ever be able to insult you anymore.”

“I believe that is my line,” Severus said in a quiet voice, making her look up quickly to find him completely ignoring her as he poured his coffee, though she knew him well enough to spot the small amount of tension that had appeared in his face, the teasing smile of seconds ago now completely gone.

“Hm,” was all Hermione said, deliberately acknowledging that he had said something, but giving him a break by not responding to it or questioning it as her mind worked.  They had gone from fun and teasing to something else.

Her stomach was doing funny things again and she knew she was blushing.  The silence was now growing awkward as the last thing he had said hung in the air between them.  He had done that deliberately.  The man said nothing without thinking it through first and that was damn near a compliment without any of the usual trimmings of insults or sarcasm.  She peered up at him through her lashes before looking down to the breakfast that had now appeared and started to put jam on her toast.  From the amount of tension in him now, she might actually have guessed that he hadn’t meant to say such a thing out loud. She bit into her toast angrily.  How was she going to get over this stupid thing if she was going to start reading into every little damn thing?

“Oh!” she said around a mouthful of toast and making Severus look at her with narrowed and suspicious eyes, “I forgot.  Protego is a charm only meant to block spells aimed at doing bodily harm, correct?”

“Correct,” Severus said frowning, not pointing out what seemed like a huge leap between topics.

“Well the Patronus Charm is used against Dementors because a Shield Charm won’t work,” Hermione said, “Which makes sense with what you were saying last night.  A Shield Charm couldn’t work on them because a Shield would protect the caster’s body, but Dementors don’t attack the body, they feed on emotions and souls.  The Patronus isn’t really a shield so much as a…”

Hermione stopped talking.  She felt like she was dancing around an idea but couldn’t fully grasp it.  There was something about what she was saying, a connection that she wasn’t grasping but was just on the edge of.

“A manifestation of happiness,” Severus said.

“No,” Hermione said without thinking, “No.  Not just that.  It couldn’t be.  I mean, if it was only happiness, they’d probably suck that down pretty easily.  Happiness couldn’t fight them off. It’s a manifestation of something…. It’s more than just happiness.  It has to be.  It has to have something of the soul involved. The outward manifestation of a soul, conjured by a memory so powerful it invokes the soul itself.  It gives the soul a chance to fight back.  That’s why the memory has to be such a powerfully happy one.  It has to be so deep and so powerful that it is connected to the very soul of the caster itself. That would also explain why they take different forms, and why…”

Hermione stopped, looking up at him, suddenly feeling awkward.  The tension was still there, though his eyes were now narrowed again.

“Finish the thought Hermione,” he said in a low voice bordering on dangerous.

“Why it can change forms to reflect the Patronus of someone else’s,” Hermione said, not daring to use what her original phrase was going to be.  She would have said, that when your soul so desperately longs for another’s…

“Spare me whatever nonsense you’re about to spat about souls and love if you please,” Severus said abruptly, pushing back his chair and leaving his breakfast uneaten.

Hermione didn’t point out that she wouldn’t have done, but it didn’t matter.  It was a rough subject for him, she knew, as she watched him pace to the mantle.  Souls and magic and happiness.  Love.  There had to be more to it than just love.  It was something she had always believed.  She had been around for more conversations than Harry.  She had overheard one very telling talk between Tonks and Mrs. Weasley at Grimmauld Place one time.

“He won’t listen to me Molly, it’s just so unfair,” Tonks had said.

“Maybe it’s for the best dear,” Molly had replied.  “With the curse, and this war on.  He doesn’t want to put you in any danger.  It’s not exactly the best time to be looking for love or family.”

“And what if it’s the only time we have?” Tonks had said, now crying, “You don’t understand.  Any time we’re apart, I want to be with him.  To have him by my side.  He’s perfect for me, why can’t he see that?  I love him, but it’s m-more th-than that.”

Hermione hadn’t been sure what she had meant by more, but to have a deep, soul longing for someone?  That would probably have been enough to change her Patronus.  But all of this was guess work. 

“The whole point I was trying to make,” Hermione said.  “Was that there is no reason that a shield charm can’t be developed that would guard against the Killing Curse.  It just means that the whole premise behind the Charm would have to be less like Protego and more like Expecto Patronum.”

Severus seemed to have reigned in his temper significantly and was now drumming his fingers slowly on the mantle where he stood.  Taking a deep breath, he sighed it out before he started pacing, slow and even steps before the fireplace.  Hermione waited.

“I agree with the premise,” Severus said finally and Hermione let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  “But doesn’t mean that it will be easy to test.”

Hermione agreed with him, but she didn’t have any working theories yet.  She really had just woken up with the idea and the first thing she had wanted to do was share the idea with Severus and garner his input.

“And I do believe that, whatever the benefit of this line of study could be, there is a more immediate subject that demands our attention,” Severus said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall.

Hermione looked at him questioningly, pausing with her toast halfway to her mouth, before she realized what he must be referring to as she said, “Did you need any help with your research?  From what you said, you had the warding system already developed and ready for print right?”

Severus looked at her incredulously.  Hermione stared back at him.  For a moment, she felt like he was trying to communicate his disappointment through his eyes.  It was that special look he reserved for when he felt she was missing something obvious.

“As important as that doubtlessly is to you,” he said, his voice silky and sarcastic, “I would have rather spend our efforts on your medical mystery, wouldn’t you?”

“I…” Hermione started, but then looked down.  To be honest, she had been trying to not think about it.  All of the past weeks had been part of her doing anything she could to not think about it.  “It was just the two times, do you really think that…”

Severus went pale and his nostrils flared, “Yes, I really think that,” he bit out angrily.  “Two times begets a pattern and, though you were experiencing it, I was observing.  And I can tell you that if there was not a cause that I could identify, then that means that this cause could and will undoubtedly occur again.  Though this is only my humble opinion.”

Hermione frowned at him, observing the tension surrounding him.  She had gotten to know his moods by now and this was something new.  His anger always had a flavor, normally it was irritation or exhaustion.  This time it was different.  She could tell that he wasn’t angry with her.  The anger was flavored with something.  Her eyes widened when she realized.  He was afraid.  Something about this situation made him almost as afraid as it did her.  Severus was narrowing his eyes at her.

“Are you going to tell me that you disagree?” he asked, his voice now reaching dangerous levels of anger, though it never rose above a whisper.

“No,” Hermione said, clearing her throat after a bit as her mind raced to process what she had just realized.  Looking down at her breakfast, she stood rather hastily, feeling strongly that she needed space.  “Just let me change and then we can get started.”

Hermione fled to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.  She didn’t advance farther into the room though, she simply just let her back fall back against the door.  Closing her eyes, she let her head thump almost soundlessly backwards.  Her heart was clenching in an uncomfortable way, though it had nothing to do with the medical mystery that they had been discussing.

Severus was afraid for her.  That should have terrified her because it meant that her condition was serious.  Instead, this insane thing that she had discovered over the weekend was making her see things that weren’t there.  She had saved his life, of course he would try to repay her.  Of course he would care if there was something threatening her life.  Something deep in her chest wanted it to be more.

Hermione felt the stirrings of self-loathing once more.  Be honest with yourself, Hermione, she chided herself.  Know thyself.  Her stomach was still reacting to his voice, but if it was only that, she could dismiss it more easily.  But that wasn’t all of it.  She had had five years to think about him.  Five years to realize that the Order had treated him like shite, that Voldemort had treated him like shite, and that Dumbledore had treated him like shite.  Five years to realize that his loyalty had never wavered, despite clear evidence of torture over the years, mistreatment, and mistrust.  Five years. 

Hermione knew that he hadn’t been treated fairly.  That had been obvious and had been the source of most of her anger and her desire to set things right.  But something had changed over these months.  Nothing so earth-shattering in reality and yet it had somehow turned her entire world on its end.

She had gotten to know him.  Hermione Granger had gotten to know a Severus Snape that wasn’t a spy.  And that was it.  Oh granted, that was the simplistic version of course, she admitted to herself, finally pushing off the door and going in search of clothes for the day.  But at its heart, that was what had changed.  What she had learned had come on so gradually that it had finally shocked her in its final manifestation.

Severus Snape was frighteningly intelligent.  She had always known that on paper.  The man always had taught from his previous knowledge of potions and not from any of the antiquated texts.  His marks at school had been near flawless.  But knowing the fact as an abstract concept and seeing it in person were two very different things, as she had discovered.

The competence that he brought to the room was alluring at worst and sexy as hell at best.  Being able to be in the same room with him while he was working was now going to be impossible.  He was still sarcastic and angry, but there was a humor to it now that he saw her as a colleague and not an annoying student.  He wasn’t directly mean to her anymore and every insult had either a veiled compliment or an attempt at humor. 

He was brave.  He had stepped out to find the Carrows without a second thought.  Hell, it hadn’t seemed like he had given it a thought at all.  He had survived in nightmarish conditions.  He had been at war and a spy for decades, and then before that he had never had it easy.  Again, this was something she had known in the abstract.  The hallucinations that he had experienced during withdrawal, as well as the nightmares, had given her a peak at the reality.  Hermione paused with her arms halfway in her long-sleeved shirt to shudder.  The nightmares had been awful, and even if they were partially true.  The knowledge that he had lived through those situations… She shuddered again, unable to finish the thought, feeling sick as she finished dressing.  She had only partially re-lived those memories and it only confirmed in her mind what Harry now thought of him.  He was one of the bravest men she knew.

Sitting on her chair, Hermione slid into calf-length boots that she had bought in London.  They were much warmer that her trainers and provided her legs with extra protection as they zipped over her tight-fitting jeans.  Then there was the last thing, and probably the most important for understanding him and yet the most damning and strangely liberating thing for her now.  His loyalty. 

If she was honest with herself, Hermione found the concept of being loyal to someone’s memory that many years after their death a bit mad.  She supposed that most might find it tragically romantic, or some other kind of nonsense.  She knew that Harry had to some extent.  If the man himself ever learned how some of the wizarding world had reacted to that news, either the disgusting audience of the terrible Skeeter woman or the intelligent readers of the more honest narrative, Hermione was absolutely sure that he would want to murder people.  Not for the first time, she chanced a glance over to the traveling robe which still had both books in a pocket that was spelled shut.  It might have been unfair to withhold the world’s opinion of him, but she still couldn’t think of a good way of saying anything. 

Her thoughts kept going back to Lily Potter and his loyalty to her memory.  How obsessive could that relationship have been to be the sole reason to keep him going for all those years?  Because she had come to the realization that that relationship had, in fact, been his sole reason.  His clear floundering that he seemed to be encountering at every moment that there was too long of a stall in action now seemed to confirm that in her mind. 

She tried to imagine what it must have been like.  Severus hadn’t had any other friends, only Lily, from what Harry had said.  She wasn’t sure how comfortable she would have been, being the sole recipient of the intensity that he seemed to embody.

Hermione tried to picture Harry or Ron being that dependent on her and it just went against everything she knew about both of them.  She changed her thinking.  She tried thinking about it if she was Draco Malfoy’s only friend, someone that she didn’t like.  It still didn’t help though.  She couldn’t put herself in the role of Lily Evans.  Biting her lip, she paused with the brush halfway to her head, her stomach churning a bit.

Cautiously pursuing this train of thought, Hermione thought back to her first year.  It hadn’t been the best year for her, if she was honest.  Her first few months at Hogwarts had been fairly terrible socially, but she had tried not to notice because of the sheer amazement she felt for the new world she had entered.  She had been bookish, smart, odd, and Muggleborn, all coupled with teeth too large and hair too bushy.  She had been too smart, too ugly, too everything for her housemates, even for some of her teachers.  If it hadn’t been for the incident with the troll, she could easily imagine her situation getting worse.  She hadn’t been desperate for friends at that point.  She had tried to connect with them, but she just hadn’t known how.

Hermione started brushing her hair in earnest, trying to keep her eyes from tearing.  She could imagine knowing Harry or Ron beforehand.  It would be easy to follow around the only person she had known in her previous life.  She hadn’t known anyone from the train.  If she had, she might have been inclined to stay with them.  And if she had been Sorted into Slytherin?  Where she wasn’t a rich pureblood?  She gave up on her hair and just pulled it back into a tail at the nape of her neck, fighting tears.  If times had been different?  If she had gone through what Snape had?  If she hadn’t had parents who lovingly supported her, encouraging her?  If the only single good thing had been a friendship with Ron or Harry?  And if Ron…  Staring at herself in the mirror, she angrily wiped at her eyes, hating how red they were.  She could imagine a lot.  There was a certain blend of empathy and sympathy that was proving very hard to dismiss, try as she might.

Severus had clung to Lily and then to her memory.  A part of her wondered what he was clinging to now, now that the war was over and the Dark Lord was defeated.  Such a large part of her still had a problem with the possibility that someone could stay loyal to a dead woman for nearly twenty years.  She doubted if she died today that Ron would stay in mourning for twenty years, even if they were married.  It was just unreasonable.  But… The scenario she was now imaging wasn’t something reasonable. 

Dumbledore had taken Severus in, given him the protection of his name and of Hogwarts, all with the knowledge of Severus’s reasons.  He had been sure of him because he had been sure of his devotion to Lily.  As much as Severus must have clung to her memory, Dumbledore must have made sure of it as well.  If his attention had wavered, or if he had somehow found someone of interest, wouldn’t that have given Dumbledore reason to doubt?  It was probably for the best that he had never felt the need for someone other than Lily.  Hermione had long held the suspicion that Dumbledore had been very much the grand chess master of their fates for decades longer than she had been alive.  She had very few doubts that if Severus had strayed, Dumbledore might have either eliminated him or found some way of reminding him what the Dark Lord had done in order to make him switch loyalties.

Hermione chuckled to herself as she looked at herself in the mirror.  It was funny how she had started off trying to isolate her own feelings and had done more thinking over Severus’s.  She had made herself so upset though at least she might be able to completely ignore whatever feelings were developing in response to that damn voice of his.  As she opened the door though to a Severus Snape in full “professor mode” stalking about and gathering books that had just appeared on the shelf, she realized she hadn’t gathered any evidence in her woolgathering that helped her lessen the attraction.  If anything, the understanding of him was going to make it worse.

“Now tell me every observation that you have made that I have not experienced firsthand,” Severus said commandingly, eyes narrowed.

Hermione sighed, biting her lip and twisting her ring on her finger.  They were settled into their “normal” work positions now.  Severus was at the first table in the potions room, along with a stack of books that he had brought down the stairs with him.  Shortly after they began working, she realized that the man hardly even sat while he was working and the table was the perfect height for him to work on.  He had raised the surface slightly now so that it was the perfect height for him to write instead of brew, with only a slight curve to his back.  His parchment was out and his pencil poised and ready to write in front of him, quill and inkwell nowhere in sight.  Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one in the wizarding world that thought such a thing in this day and age were ridiculous.

“I think you covered it when you described it before,” Hermione replied, leaning against the second table as she thought.  “It started with a pain in my chest.  Then it felt like my heart was having a hard time beating, as if it was slowing.  That was the first time.  The second time was the same, only worse.  It felt like my chest was starting to get cold, and yet my head was hot.  I couldn’t get my breath.  It was like trying to breathe in either very humid or very cold air, but neither.  My hands and feet were all needles and pins, but still strangely hot.  That’s all I really remember before feeling like I would pass out.  And then it was over.”

“Over,” Severus repeated.  “Was there a gradual return of sensation?”

“That’s the strangest part,” Hermione said, absentmindedly pulling herself up to sitting on the table, “I could have understood that.  But it wasn’t.  It was sudden.  My heart returned to a normal rhythm instantly.  The sensation of cold was gone.  Everything was normal, abruptly.  There was no recovery time.  That was why it had seemed like I had almost imagined it the first time.”

“Yet you had difficulty regaining your breath,” Severus pointed out after he had made another note.

“I think that was more psychological,” Hermione said, staring into the distance as she tried to remember.  “I had been gasping the whole time and then suddenly it was easy to breathe again.  But I still wanted to hyperventilate out of…”  Hermione looked at him, but she saw no judgement only cold calculation as she finished, “Fear.”

“I would imagine something trying to kill you would have that effect,” he observed dryly.

“Hah bloody hah,” Hermione said, though the fear was still there.  “So.  Do you have any suspicions yet?”

“You say the first attack occurred the night we arrived?” Severus asked, drawing an older, parchment already covered in pencil scratchings with the familiar scrawl.

“Yes,” Hermione said, remembering vaguely the moment she had been driven to her knees inside her brand new and transfigured bedroom.

“And…” Severus had a frown creasing his brow and he was tense as he continued, “When did the dreams begin?”

Hermione frowned at him, but he wouldn’t look up.  Looking away, she studied the stones of the wall as she thought.  She couldn’t remember the first night.  It might have been the first night.  It might have been a week later.  She wasn’t sure now. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione leaned forward, thinking, propping her elbows on her knees.  “I wasn’t paying attention until they got worse.  I remember them happening in August, but I don’t know if they happened earlier.”

“So they could have begun as early as July?” he asked, finally looking up and narrowing his eyes at her.

Hermione felt the look and met his gaze.  There was a slight glaze to his eyes, a certain coldness, that somehow masked how deep his emotions went.  His entire posture and expression seemed to scream suspicion, but it just didn’t reach his eyes.

“I suppose,” Hermione said.  She tried to remember if she had had nightmares in the tent.  “I can’t remember the first time that my dreams weren’t mine.  It’s been a long time since I practiced lucid dreaming.”

That got a response from him and she could see surprise break through whatever the ice in his eyes was holding.  Severus raised an eyebrow from behind the slight mask of hair that obscured part of his face as he wrote.

“Lucid dreaming?” he asked, curiosity coloring his voice, “Seems a rather interesting talent for you to have taken an interest in.”

Hermione looked away as she shrugged.  She would rather not go into it.  It had been her solution to conquering the nightmares after the war ended.  In between revising for her N.E.W.T.s, she had taught it to herself.  She had tried to help Ron and Harry to learn it too.  Harry had needed it, but hadn’t accepted the help until Ginny had made him.  He had started building a resistance to Dreamless Sleep and when he woke up mid-nightmare, he had terrified her.  He had finally learned a mental discipline because Ginny had told him that she wouldn’t sleep with him unless he did.  She  wasn’t sure if she wanted to share all that with him right now.

“Something I learned after the Battle of Hogwarts,” Hermione said finally, glancing at him.  She was pleased to see that there was a recognition in his eyes, and an acknowledgement in how he inclined his head to her that she didn’t need to say anything more.

“Hm,” was all he ended up saying aloud, looking again to his notes, writing down a few words.  Finally, he looked up, closed his eyes and appeared to be quite concentrated.

A blackboard suddenly appeared behind him and Severus’s lips tilted upwards in a half-smile.  Hermione frowned, looking at it.  He hadn’t done magic.  There hadn’t been any transfiguration or conjuring involved.  Looking at it more closely, she realized it looked very familiar.

“Who is teaching Potions now?” Severus asked slowly, confirming her suspicion.

“Horace Slughorn.  He’ll be retiring probably at the end of this year,” Hermione said, still figuring the mystery of the appearing blackboard.

Severus snorted rather inelegantly, “Serves him right then.  It’s not like he would be using this anyway.”

Drawing his wand, he flicked it at the desk behind him, aiming a piece of chalk at the board where words started appearing in his handwriting as he flipped through the pieces of parchment in front of him.

_ Possible Causes: _

_ - Previous medical condition _

_ - Poison _

_ - Long-term spell damage _

_ - Drain from mental connection _

_ - Drain from spells cast _

_ - Consequence from time travel _

_ - Cause found in Hogwarts _

_ - Magical creature unknown _

“I don’t have a heart condition!” Hermione protested almost as soon as the chalk clattered to the tray on the board.

“Well that is what we will be ascertaining first, as it is the easiest cause to confirm or eliminate,” Severus said, gesturing with his arm that she should stand in front of him.

Hermione slid off the table and walked in front of him.  On the table, three of the books jumped open to pre-marked pages.  Severus spared them only half a glance however before his wand started moving.  Only one of the spells she recognized, the others passed in a blur, rapid-fire, one to the next.  Even the lights from the spells she couldn’t really follow.  Watching him concentrate completely on his work, though, was rather distracting and eventually she made herself stop watching and instead she stared rather hard at the blackboard.

Severus stepped back finally, gesturing behind him so that the words “previous medical condition” were now slashed through.  “There is no evidence of a previous condition, magical or physical.”

“I believe I said as much,” Hermione said, crossing her arms in discomfort, but she then noticed that he hadn’t told her everything, just something in the way that he hadn’t looked at her face.  “What else?”

Severus looked back at her sharply, but Hermione just looked him in the face and waited.  She had finally grown the patience necessary to outlast him when he wanted to be cryptic or withhold something. 

“There was no physical evidence that these attacks happened,” Severus said finally.

His voice was carefully unconcerned, giving her the fact and letting her digest it.  Her heart had been affected though, that she knew.  For her to have two attacks and no damage left behind… She wasn’t sure what that meant.

“So there was no trace?” Hermione asked.  “What does that mean?”

“Heart attacks, heart disease, cardiac arrest, all of these will leave traces even years after they occur,” Severus said thoughtfully.  “They are all very physical ailments and so leave physical traces.  I believe that we can safely assume that whatever is causing these attacks has a magical cause and a magical effect.  Whatever you felt physically is merely a side-effect.”

A chill raced down her spine and Hermione looked once again at the blackboard at the potential causes.  Not a single one of them gave her much comfort, besides the poison at least.  She was almost certain that if that was the case, Severus would be able to cure it.  It was funny that she found poison an almost comfort.  She was afraid she was growing a bit hysterical.

“So my heart trying to stop isn’t the goal, it’s a side-effect,” Hermione said in a slightly breathy voice.

“I believe so,” Severus said.

Hermione nodded, trying to curb her hysteria.  This was why she had avoided this entire line of thinking.  It was always easier to solve other people’s problems that to take a look at her own. 

Finally, Severus had decided that drawing her blood was the next step to test for contagions, poisons, and other maladies that might be missed from the diagnostic spells that he had performed on her.  The fact that he had sterilized syringes in one of the drawers of his cabinets had shocked her slightly and made her wonder quite a bit, but she wisely kept her thoughts to herself.  After he had treated her blood samples with an anti-coagulant, he dismissed her for the next few hours.

When she went upstairs, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see that Daniel had evidently been as busy as they had that morning.  Garlands of fall leaves draped the mantle, centerpieces of pumpkins resting on every surface, floating candles of orange and black hovered around the walls, and three miniature jack-o-lanterns hovered over their main table that was now draped with a runner of orange and rust with tiny dancing black cats as a trim.  She supposed that it was getting close to Halloween after all. 

Hermione ate lunch on her own.  She had learned that trying to get Severus to eat while he was working was nearly impossible and bringing food down while he was working was almost always a waste.  He would come up when he was finished.  When he finally did surface, Hermione had finished eating and was thumbing through an experimental spells journal in her chair.

Severus came through the doorway into their common room, showing signs of strain around his eyes and around his mouth.  When he saw the decorations, he stopped dead, nostrils flaring in anger as his face paled.  Hermione had been about to comment about how nice everything looked, but then some facts crashed hard into her.  There was no reason that he would like this time of year.  Finally, after he had taken in most of the scene, he turned to glare at her.

“The elf?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Hermione nodded, eyes slightly wide.  Severus nodded at her abruptly, before storming past and into his bedroom, slamming the door so hard that the floating candles nearby went out.  Overall, it was a very tame reaction from him.

“Daniel,” Hermione whispered.

The elf appeared next to her elbow with a pop. His hands were already wringing the corners of his towel, but he had a stubborn set to his shoulders.  Hermione turned to look at him fully.  He was looking at her with a rather guilty expression, but his body language was utterly unrepentant. 

“Why?” she asked quietly.  “Why did you decorate for Halloween?  Do you do it normally here?”

Daniel shook his head so hard that his ears flopped against the sides of his head.  Hermione frowned at him. Both of them jumped when something crashed in his bedroom and Hermione frowned harder, crossing her arms over her chest.  Daniel looked away from her.

“Headmaster Snape…” he started in a squeaky whisper.  “The past must be past. Past is not for present, Miss.  Anger is easy, Miss.  But anger is not always good.”

Hermione looked at him, her mouth slightly dropped.  The elf flinched a bit again, wringing his hands so tightly in his towel it looked like the fabric might begin to fray.  This was the power of house elves really.  When they cared so much that it hurt them.  She was strongly reminded of Winky at the moment. 

Suddenly, Daniel flinched again and disappeared with a pop.  Hermione looked at the bedroom door, expecting to see an angry Severus storming in, but nothing happened.  Sighing, Hermione laid the journal aside and stood.  She drew her wand and walked over to the table and began by vanishing the jack-o-lanterns.  

When Severus resurfaced, she had finished vanishing jack-o-lanterns and the table runner with the dancing cats and was starting to vanish candles.  Hermione froze, mid-motion, with her wand raised.  She could see the marginal tension in him, responding to seeing her wand, but it left easily now.

“I fail to see the reasoning behind making the decorations disappear,” Severus said finally, walking into the room and sitting in his typical chair before the fire.

Hermione stowed her wand before going to sit opposite him and picking up the journal once again as she said, “Well I don’t really have problems with them for the most of it, but the jack-o-lanterns I always thought were a bit much.  And dancing black cats are just tacky.”

Severus didn’t acknowledge her words, merely looked into the fire.  Hermione watched him, but he gave no indication one way or the other of what he was thinking.  Normally when he vented his anger out on Daniel’s things he came out looking slightly refreshed.  Now, it looked as if the glaze was back over his eyes.

“It’s just a day,” he said finally.  “The decorations wouldn’t have killed you, tacky or not.”

“Maybe I was just taking a page from your book,” Hermione said, secretly happy now that her Slytherin translator seemed to be fully functional.  “And destroying additions that I didn’t like.”

Severus gave a half-laugh that seemed to shake him out of the emotionless fog he had been sitting in and he looked up at her.  Hermione grinned at him.  She was secretly beginning to like trying to talk like a Slytherin where you said things you didn’t mean, without lying, and yet having the other person understand you.  Of course he’d hated the décor and the reminder of Halloween.  He seemed determined now to not let it bother him though and she was more than happy to assist.

“There was no evidence of poisons or toxins in your blood,” Severus said, sobering rather abruptly and Hermione’s grin faltered around the edges before it subsided into a frown and she looked down.

“I was afraid of that,” Hermione said with a slightly bitter laugh.  “I was almost hoping for poison.  At least then we would know and could treat it.”

“And now we venture into the unknown,” Severus said, sighing and leaning back in his chair.  “As much as I would even like to lay the blame at a dormant or long distance Dark Spell, no one creating such a thing would let it last this long.  As I haven’t found evidence of any in my personal research, I would venture to say that we must cross that out as well.”

“You did research about spells?” Hermione asked leaning forward, “When?”

“Unimportant,” Severus said, waving his hand, “The material point is that although I found one that does in fact produce nearly identical results to what you experienced, the witch or wizard needs to be within close quarters to you for the magical drain to take place.  There is also the need for an artifact to be the grounding force on the victim for any long distance drains to occur.  Also, the timeline for such curses is typically three weeks, not the greater part of four months.”

Hermione nodded, sitting back and biting her lip.

“We’ll continue this line of thought only so that I ascertain that there have been no spells of this type around you that hit you in the past few months and then we will proceed down the list,” Severus said.

They quickly dismissed spell damage, short or long term, as the cause.  Any spells that would produce these effects would have to be active continuously.  If they had been cast years previously and suddenly become active there would have had to be a catalyst in either the form of an artefact unknown, or the caster activating it.  They safely eliminated that.  And then because Severus had been present for the magical fights of the last months, he had been able to eliminate any of the active spells that had come her way since he had recognized them.

After the hour or so discussion, Severus then began a rather harrowing interrogation of the spells she had cast over the last few months.  They started with those in the tent and finished with her warding of her parents’ home.  Nothing jumped out and Severus’s expression seemed to be growing more and more tense.

Eventually Daniel was summoned again and then subjected to an interrogation of his own.  As Headmaster, Severus still had knowledge about the castle, but it wasn’t all-knowing.  Things like basilisks could still apparently lurk in the castle in unknown ways without his knowledge.  A Founders Era monster was  _ not _ something that Hermione favored as a possibility.  Daniel finally assured them that nothing other than the pair of them had been present in their rooms at their arrival, though he would tell the elves to be on guard.

“So now it comes to it,” Severus said, after they had taken a break for tea, though Severus preferred his typical cup of coffee.  “We’ll have to sort out this,” he gestured vaguely to his own head, “Connection that somehow happened.”

Hermione looked down quickly, her cheeks burning slightly.  This was what she had been afraid of.  She had memories of Harry’s Occulmency lessons in her head, of him delving after Harry’s memories and emotions with the skill of a master.  How was she going to keep her damnable crush out from her thoughts if their minds were connected?  Hermione looked up at him with a tense smile, but he was pointedly not looking at her.  Obviously it bothered him too.  She took a bite of a biscuit.  How indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now these charming little creatures are going to have to meet in a mindscape. And more reveals in next chapter, oh boy. And.. just maybe... we'll find out what has been plaguing our Gryffindor's heart. I also think that this might be the last chapter told exclusively from Hermione's perspective. Severus has been doing a lot in the background here and I don't know if it's fair to keep from all of you. Any thoughts?


	24. Meeting of the Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the delay!

_ “The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure.  Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader.  The mind is a complex and many layered thing… or at least, most minds are…” - Severus Snape _

 

Severus sighed into his coffee quietly, watching Hermione through strands of his hair.  She seemed anxious, though he shouldn’t have been surprised really.  If Potter had told her even a bit about his lessons in fifth  year, she had reasons for trepidation.  This would be a unique experience for them both.  He had only the basic understanding of Legilimency, no matter what Potter or Albus had thought.  Dumbledore had been a Master Legilimens.  Though Severus was a Master Occlumens, actually diving into other’s minds was uncomfortable for him.  To explore the link might actually need more talent than he had, though he would never admit such a thing out loud.

Hermione seemed very intent on making her biscuit last.  Severus tried his utmost not to sigh again.  At least she wasn’t biting her lip or spinning her ring or anything of the sort.

“I will advise you to try to at least calm your mind and clear it of unnecessary emotion,” Severus said slowly.  He had a bit more hope for her rather than his previous pupil.  “I don’t know if Potter said,” Hermione looked up at him with a slight grimace, “Yes.  Of course.  Either way, this shall not be like that time.  I will not be searching for painful memories, or trying to have you push me out.  It will be… much more a joint effort I believe.”

“You’ve never done something like this,” Hermione said, the trepidation in her voice obvious.

“No,” Severus said curtly.  “Of course not.  Though the last Legilimency experience was with someone of a similar experience, it wasn’t to discover the nature of the link between the two parties.  I merely tried to teach one of them to block the connection from his side, similar to the what I have done between the two of us.”

Severus watched her thinking and saw the moment the connection was made, saw her eyes widen, before she tried to control her expression again.  It was a valiant attempt, but she was still every inch the Gryffindor.

“I assure you, that whatever this link between us may be,” Severus said sardonically, “Neither of us accidentally created a Horcrux, no matter what the similarities might be to Potter’s experience.”

“Somehow you successfully blocked it though, which is what you were trying to teach Harry,” Hermione said finally.  “But the link was only destroyed with Vol-with the Dark Lord’s death.  Did you find anything that actually teaches how to break apart a magical link?”

“Such things are...complicated,” Severus said.

It had been the first thing Severus had done when her library shelf had been installed.  All of his restless night hours had been put to good use.  He had read and read until the point of exhaustion and frustration, neither of which were easy for him to accomplish.  He had found evidence of magical bonds being created, but many of the sources were over a century old.  Magical bonds were not the fashion anymore in civilized society.  They used to be used to group covens together, or sometimes couples, whether they were in romantic relationships or teacher-pupil.  There was too much trust involved in the sharing of one’s magic, trust that many would not willingly give up because it was so prone to betrayal.  Merlin and Nimueh were surely the most obvious example and warning.

“I have yet to find a magical bond that was created accidentally in my research,” Severus said finally, because it was true.  Potter was definitely an outlier no matter how anyone looked at things.  “All of the bonds were made deliberately.”

“With the thought that they wouldn’t be broken,” Hermione finished, looking slightly ill.

Severus’s lip curled slightly.  Yes, if he was anyone else he would probably hate being stuck with him, too.  She didn’t have to look so obvious about it.  She was still trying to figure a way out of this next step, he knew.  It was going to be undoubtedly unpleasant for both of them; it would be better to just get it over with.

“When you’re ready?” Severus said pointedly, proud that he made her jump in her seat.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Hermione asked finally, looking at him with such a flighty expression, trapped somewhere between apprehension and resignation, that it made him uncomfortable and just as quickly it turned to anger.  He wouldn’t harm her.  And frankly, he had more to lose right now than she did.  The anger at her fear immediately turned inward at its favorite target: himself.

“Simply try to keep your mind and emotions neutral, as unthinking as possible,” Severus said, setting down his coffee and folding his fingers together in his lap beneath the table.  He squeezed them tightly together, so hard his knuckles were white and what remained of his already short fingernails pressed into the backs of his hands.  Pain was a better channel for anger rather than any visible or audible loss of control that would only serve to heighten her anxiety.

Hermione stood, pacing away from him, facing the fire, her arms crossed around her middle.  With her back to him, Severus found himself taking the liberty that he would never dare if she could see him.  He looked.  The fire crackled slightly in the grate, the warm light radiating around the room and framing her body perfectly.  The orange light clung to every facet, around her waist, the curves of her shoulders, her legs.  Severus angrily forced his eyes away, his hands tightening more in his lap. 

“I guess I’m ready then,” Hermione said quietly, making him look up.  She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable, “Or as ready as I’m going to be.”

With the light at her back now, it was harder to make out her expression, though the candle lighting the rest of the room showed her well enough.  He hated to admit to it, but even though he couldn’t see it, he knew there would be two small shadows above her eyebrows when she was either irritated or determined, as she was now.

Severus stood, releasing his hands quickly to the small of his back on the off chance that his nails had left imprints he didn’t want her to see.  Mentally, he began to prepare, even as his body moved him closer to the woman by the fire.  A thin tendril of fear made its way to his stomach, but he ignored it, dismissed it, buried it in resolve.  Just as he used to do, just as he always did, pushing back the emotions until he couldn’t feel anything, even the anger that had been present just moments ago.

Now face to face, Severus looked at her dispassionately and saw her shiver, an action that might have spurred more anger that her fear could be so strong, had he been capable of feeling anything, anything at all.

“Eye contact is all that is needed,” he said, raising his wand.  “Try and keep your mind calm while I try to find the source of the link.   _ Legilimens _ .”

Immediately, Severus felt the spinning sensation as he dove into her mind.  He still could feel his body standing in front of her in their common room, could still feel himself holding his wand, but his concentration was inward, on the images spinning in front of him.  There were memories of the being in the castle, Hermione standing by a window in the dungeon, running to the bookshelf…  When they slowed and finally stopped, he was confused.

He was standing in the common room across from Hermione.  The room was completely black and he couldn’t make out the walls.  The only reason he could tell it was the common room was because of the two very familiar chairs and the fireplace which was the only source of light.  Hermione had her eyes shut tight, a frown of concentration on her face.  Severus was confused.  There should have been movement by now, more memories. With memories, he could hopefully follow them to the connection’s source.  But now, it was only holding steady.

“What are you…” he started to ask, and abruptly the landscape shifted.

Suddenly the common room was ablaze with light and Severus saw himself from earlier, sitting across from Hermione, sparring with Shylock’s lines.

“If we are like you in the rest…” the memory Severus said before he abruptly disappeared.

They were back in the Granger’s house.  It was the night before the attack, when Severus had found some interesting things to read.  He listened to himself reading lines of Milton in the dark after borrowing her spell of blue fire.  The scene shifted once more.

The common room once again held only the two of them, though a bead of sweat was now forming on Hermione’s temple.  Her eyes were still closed, concentrating.  Her clothing had shifted though and was now a tight purple tank with thin straps and comfortable, black, form-fitting pants.  Her hair was now in a plait instead of a tail, and there was no make-up on her face.  There was a scar however that he hadn’t seen before peeking out from the tank that immediately made him grateful that her eyes were shut. The landscape shifted.

Suddenly, they were in the potions lab, brewing flashbangs.  Severus had a moment where he was able to see everything clearly.  He saw himself at a cauldron next to this Hermione’s.  She was wearing her old jumper, looking at her cauldron’s contents with concentration.  He knew what would happen next and he looked around with fear to see the current Hermione, still dressed in a purple tank near him, still with her eyes closed.  A moment later and suddenly a bubble burst, splashing Hermione’s jumper and Severus panicked.  Somehow the panic bled through his emotionless cage he had surrounding him and he pushed the memory away.  He couldn’t let Hermione see, couldn’t let her know, and the scene shifted. 

This time they were in the in another memory, this time in the common room.  It was a safe memory and Severus breathed out an almost inaudible sigh of relief as he let it play out as he tried to find whatever connection was holding their minds together.

“A welcome change,” he said as she sat herself across from him, pouring tea.  Severus was thankfully able to ignore it, though he knew the barb that would come.

“Pardon?” Severus heard her ask, but his concentration was inward, trying to find anything that would lead to the memory of when this started.  

“The comfort of one’s own clothing. Not having to rely on the items selected for you by someone else,” Severus heard himself say, and despite his concentration, despite trying to emotionally distance himself, he found himself looking back at the memory.

“You make a valid point,” Hermione said and Severus watched her carefully considering her words before she spoke again.  “Though if the supplier of said clothing had just bought them for after saving my life I wouldn’t complain. Not when Weasley sweaters of orange and green were more readily available to her.”

Severus couldn’t help the small amount of humor that graced his face again at the memory.  She hadn’t risen to his bait and instead had used a very Slytherin turn of phrase.  Amateur, but true.  Suddenly the scene shifted again.

This time they were both in Muggle London.  A thread of worry started to slip through the emotionless state he was trying to keep himself in.  He pushed it further down.  He would  _ not _ feel.  Feelings led to memories that couldn’t be seen.  He felt the safe memories out of the corner of his vision and he tried to keep them at bay as well.  The memories that were safe for the Dark Lord to see were not safe memories for Hermione.

Hermione walked into a shop and Severus watched himself remain outside.  If this was her memory, why wasn’t he being pulled inside?  With a shock, he realized that these had been his memories.  He watched the memory of himself watching her.  He could see the look on his face.  That meant that Hermione could see it.  And that was enough.  He tried to push the emotions down further, but the absolute panic that he felt at being discovered made the memories shift again.

They were cold and in the room of a decrepit house.  Shadows gathered around them and black robed figures stepped forward from the walls.  The meeting was about to begin.  They all gathered and took their places in the circle.  Severus watched himself obediently fall to his knees.  He had control.  He was control.  He was ice and nothing could touch him.  The scene changed so abruptly it was as if someone flipped on a light switch.

They were back in the common room.  Hermione was once again in front of him, still looking ready for a yoga class.  Then her eyes opened, but the frown of concentration on her face looked pained.

“Sorry,” she whispered, “I think I’ve got it now.”

Severus was barely thinking about her now though.  Something about this was dreadfully wrong.  He knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything about it.  He had pushed everything so far into apathy, that he couldn’t even feel the panic that he undoubtedly should have been.  But the apathy stopped the memories, as it always had.

“Severus?” Hermione was in front of him now, “What’s happening?”

Severus looked at her, but couldn’t speak.  He was the one who initiated this connection, he should be in control.  He was in control, but only of his own mind.  But he couldn’t focus.  Couldn’t delve into the connection when the memories weren’t flowing.

With Potter, it was easy.  The boy’s emotions and memories had been on the surface.  Easy to steer, easy to manipulate.  Like merely steering in a current.  Now, he could feel her mind, but he felt very much like he was disconnected.  He couldn’t break in, couldn’t locate the weakness.  He couldn’t move.  Suddenly the temperature dropped and he knew they were in terrible trouble.

Hermione looked at him.  The man before her looked like a statue.  He seemed frozen.  She hadn’t seen him before now, she had been so concentrated on keeping her eyes closed and her focus inward.  The image before her flickered like a television screen whose reception had been jammed.  One moment Severus was standing there, tall and imposing in his Potions Master garb, the next he was dressed in a long black robe, a silver mask in his hand.

Even though she could feel her body alive in the common room, warm by the fire, suddenly she was cold.  Her breath came out in warm gusts of steam and her skin was covered in bumps. As soon as she acknowledged the cold, there was instantly an inch of snow covered the floor of the common room.

“S-Severus,” she stuttered out, shivering, taking a step towards him.

It was just a mental image of him, she reminded herself.  It was him, in her mind.  Her stomach rolled in fear, but the image before her so completely held all of her attention that no more memories were evoked.  He looked down on her with eyes so completely cold, she would have thought that the ice in the room originated from him.

Terrified, her eyes widened, realizing that the snow around them had risen to her ankles, though nothing was falling from the ceiling.  Briefly, she wondered how the fire was still crackling in the fireplace when there was snow collecting on the wood and she immediately hated herself for thinking it.  As soon as her conscious mind realized how impossible it was, the fire went out.

“Severus!” Hermione yelled, panicked, desperate for light.

Light erupted from her hands in cold blue flames, throwing shadows over his face and she screamed when she saw that somehow a silver mask now covered his face.  The mask disappeared, but the snow remained.

“B-break it o-off!” she yelled, her flame covered hands frantically rubbing her bare arms, desperate for warmth.  “You have to break it off!”

The snow rose up to her calves, her toes were going numb.  Hermione forced herself across the five or so feet separating them until she was nearly chest to chest with him.  Severus couldn’t seem to see her, hear her, or acknowledge her.  Hermione was terrified.  Closing her eyes, she tried desperately to mentally pull herself away, to slam herself backwards into her own body.  It was like trying to wake from a nightmare.

“Severus, you have to break it!” Hermione yelled, grabbing his arms and shaking him.

That got a response.  Severus recoiled from her, trying to stumble back, but nothing broke through the cold or the snow.  His eyes were distant, unseeing, but he was at least alive.  Desperate, Hermione freed his arms and made a grab for his face, trying to get him to look at her.  His arm shot up, catching her left wrist to keep her away, to keep her from touching him, and his hand was like pure ice around her wrist.  Rearing back, Hermione used her right hand to slap him across the face.

Gasping, Hermione stumbled away from him, catching herself on the arm of the chair and collapsing into it.  Looking up at him, she saw Severus standing in front of her, his limp fingers barely holding the wand in front of him.  They were out.

“What happened?” she finally asked when she’d caught her breath.  All she really wanted to do was to get her blanket off the bed and huddle in front of the fire until Christmas.  It had felt like a Dementor attack, like she would never be warm again.

Severus looked at her numbly and she could see that he was somehow stuck in that cold place, even though he had released her.  Suddenly, something clicked in her mind.  His eyes were glazed still and she could still feel the cold.  She had felt it before.  Whenever he shut down, his eyes would glaze like they were now and she always felt cold.

“What are you doing now that makes you cold?” Hermione asked.

Severus tried to glare at her, but it lacked the necessary heat.  Instead, he took his time lowering his wand.  He took even longer as he moved to sit down across from her.  It took all of her self-control not to tuck her legs into her chest and huddle around them for warmth.  It would just look childish.  

Still, he wasn’t saying anything.  Hermione tried to think about the first time she had really gotten a sense of cold like this from him, but she couldn’t remember what had come next.  It had normally surrounded him when there was a tense moment.  She knew she remembered it from the time they had been having conversations about the state of his soul.

“I apologise,” Severus said finally, his voice feeling very distant and lacking any emotion.

“That didn’t answer my questions,” Hermione said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to try and dispel the feeling of cold.

Somehow, what she was saying wasn't penetrating.  Hermione could tell.  She couldn’t shake the memory of how cold she had felt.  He still seemed...unreachable.  The worst was that she couldn’t understand it.  She had been in her own mind.  He had come into  _ her _ mind and yet somehow his mind had been ruling the landscape.  

There was frightfully little known about true Legilimency.  There were books about how to initiate contact, how to penetrate defenses.  Most were in the Restricted Sections of libraries.  Most had to be signed out personally so that there was a record of who read them.  Then there was Kristoff and Mullen’s in Knockturn Alley, but that was always her last resort.  She hadn’t gone there in years; the second experience had been enough.  Besides her initial interest after Harry had eventually told her about his lessons, she hadn’t thought much about it.  Her fierce denial about the mental connection that they shared had kept her from doing her own research until now.

“Why don’t you tell me what it was like for you?” Hermione said calmly.

Severus didn’t look up.  He seemed very intent on studying his wand which he was spinning in his fingers.  He had leaned forward, his forearms leaning on his knees.  Hermione didn’t think he would answer.  The temperature in the room felt like it was dropping again and she shivered.  

“What are you doing?” she whispered.  Hermione stood, huddling inward on herself and walking to the fire so that she could absorb the warmth.  

Why was she so cold?  Hermione shivered again.  It wasn’t cold in here, she knew it.  Why did she feel as if she couldn't stop shivering even while standing in front of the fire?  Looking at him, looking at the careful control that was so strong he barely felt human to her, something else clicked together in her head.  Whatever he had been doing, whatever he was  _ still _ doing, he couldn't stop.  It must have been a control mechanism, something similar to what he had needed to do in the past when he was a Death Eater.  It would explain when things got difficult emotionally, she would see him close off and go cold.

Which brought her back to the mystery of her feeling cold.  It had to be coming through the connection that they shared.  Even though he was no longer actively in her mind, they were still connected.  Which meant that whatever he had been doing to block her from experiencing his dreams, it hadn't blocked the connection completely.  Hermione stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly, glad he was still absorbed in twirling his wand in his fingers.  They had been connected all along.  Why had it only gone one way?  She filed that thought away for future musings as she turned to the immediate problem.

Severus was stuck.  Somehow, she understood that.  Hermione had no idea how it had happened or why, only that if she started feeling any colder her teeth were likely to start chattering.  There was no way that he would keep this up on purpose, not when he was safe.  A chilling thought came over her as she realized what she had done.

No matter how well he was coping, Hermione had to remember that he really wasn't all that far removed from a trauma victim, who was still suffering from some form of PTSD, who undoubtedly just did something to hit every possible trigger.  It didn't happen often, but she found herself thanking her own insight.  Now if only she could think her way to a solution.  It eventually came to her, but it was definitely mad.  Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back.

“Well, you nearly killed us, congratulations,” Hermione bit out angrily, her stomach rolling in her gut with nerves.  Everything in her was screaming that this was necessary, but it was barely louder than the voice telling her that she was committing suicide by proxy.  “I bet Voldemort would even have been proud.”

Severus flinched at the name and she saw his hands clench down on his wand.  Progress, Hermione thought, Daniel’s words echoing in her head about anger being easier.  It might not be easier, but it might be necessary.

“You plowed into my mind and practically froze me from the inside out,” Hermione said, her voice rising. “Was that what you were  _ trying _ to do?”

His knuckles were turning white around his wand.  Hermione knew that he was reaching the breaking point.  Knew it, even before she realized that she no longer felt cold.  This wasn’t fair, what she was doing, she knew that.  Every man had a breaking point and she could see him teetering on the edge.  One more good push and that would be it.

“I  _ trusted _ you,” Hermione said harshly, knowing to her marrow that she still did and probably always would, “I let you in my  _ head _ .  How could you  _ do _ that?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Severus finally shouted, standing abruptly, making her jump back from him.  He turned away from her, sparks jumping from the wand he still had tightly in one fist as the other hand tore through his hair roughly.

Hermione grinned at his back.  It had worked.  The feeling of otherness was completely gone.  Her smile dimmed slightly when she realized the cost.  Now she was no longer in a room alone with a dangerously apathetic Slytherin, now she was in a room with a dangerously angry Severus Snape.  

Slowly, the joy at breaking through bled away as she looked at his back.  Small tremors were shaking his frame.  What she had accused him of was cruel.  Her heart suddenly clenched painfully and she desperately wanted to comfort him and wipe the hurt she had caused away.  Any other friend she would have apologized to, maybe even offered a hug.  At the very least she would have felt comfortable enough to put her hand on their arm.

“What was it like before?” Hermione asked softly instead, choosing to dive right in.

Severus tensed even further, the tremors increasing from barely noticeable to visibly shaking his frame.  He took a step away, towards his bedroom, before he stopped.  He turned around, looking at her through his hair.  His eyes were dark, considering her, before he turned around all the way.  Knowing him as she did now, that the anger had come and seemingly gone seemed strange.  A dark smile twisted his mouth upwards in a grimace that flashed for only an instant before it disappeared.

“With the Dark Lord you mean?” Severus asked, his voice quiet, as he finally pocketed his wand.  “Or with Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore used Legilimency?” Hermione asked, pleased that her voice remained level and calm.  Inwardly, she was dancing.  She had managed to break through to him and he hadn’t lashed out at her!  The sensation of cold was completely gone.

“Often,” Severus said, taking a long suffering sigh and then going to once again to sit in his chair.  “He was hardly omniscient, though he always liked to appear so.  His talents were subtle enough not to be noticed by children or… particularly unskilled adults.”

“He invaded people’s heads?” Hermione asked, completely affronted. 

“Of course,” Severus said, sounding tired, “He hardly ever trusted anyone.  He did what needed to be done to win the war, always, no matter the cost.  Sacrificing pieces on the board for whatever gains that he felt would aid the cause.  He was fallible of course. But would he balk at looking a wayward child in the eye and reading their thoughts to find the truth?  Never.”

Hermione was tempted to let herself go and start remembering all of the times that Dumbledore had tried to catch her eyes and all the times she had let him.

“What about…” Hermione started.

“Yes,” Severus said, leaning back,  “The Dark Lord.  He lacked any of the finesse that Dumbledore employed.  He hardly cared about whether or not his victim’s noticed his intrusion.  His followers readily had to submit to his tender mercies as a matter of course.  His enemies… He plowed through their minds with hardly a thought to what he was doing.  He had a talent for linking painful memory to painful memory.  He would link memories to nightmares and cause the victim to relive them over and over until they would literally beg him to kill them.”

Hermione’s mind was already ahead of her words and she was fairly certain that she knew the answer, but she asked anyway, “But you were a spy.  You lied to him.  You hid things from him.”

“I did,” Severus said.  “The Dark Lord was an emotional Legilimens.  It was how he always knew if someone was lying to him.  The first thing you feel when you lie is fear.  Fear of being caught.  The Dark Lord would follow that fear down to the reason why you were afraid, the reason why you were lying.  And by then, you were finished.  It was always better to beg forgiveness first in his presence.”

Severus shifted slightly in his seat uncomfortably and said, “I could lie to him because I could turn off my emotions in his presence.”

“Did that work for Dumbledore?” Hermione asked, curious.

“No,” Severus said, a touch of anger colored his response, “No.  There was a dance whenever I was questioned by him.  Never giving full eye contact.  Occasionally thinking certain things I knew he didn’t want to know when I did meet his eyes.”

“What-” Hermione started to ask, but dropped it immediately when he narrowed his eyes at her.  It wasn’t her place to ask, she had pushed him far enough.

Leaning forward,  she mirrored his earlier posture, propping her forearms on her thighs and staring at her hands.  Now, she needed more information about their connection.  To get that, she would have to push.

“What went wrong when you were in my mind?” Hermione asked.

Severus took a deep breath before letting it out.  Hermione kept her eyes down, focusing on her hands to make sure that he felt comfortable talking to her without having to meet her eyes.

“I couldn't truly say,” he said finally.

There was a sense of exhaustion and defeat in his voice that made her heart clench painfully again.  She wished she could fix it.

“Well, from my end it was very confusing,” Hermione said, moving over to her chair and sitting.  He wasn’t confident enough to continue so she felt her old take-charge self take over, confidence starting to bleed into her voice and make it stronger.  “I was doing what you said.  Once I started, I realized it was like meditation.  I went to yoga classes with my mum for a while after the war and the best part of the class was always the meditation afterwards.  Our instructor always began with us acknowledging the thoughts that drifted into our minds and allowing them to pass without focusing on them.  It was the only way for me to clear my mind.”

Hermione risked a glance upwards and found him watching her.  She looked down at her hands and then kept going, “That’s what I did when you were in my head.  The memories kept coming, but I kept acknowledging them and trying to keep my mind clear.  I thought I had managed it.  But then memories started playing out that I hadn’t thought of.”

This time when she looked up, it was deliberate.  She watched his eyes skirt off to the side and she could practically feel the embarrassment coming off him in waves.  For someone like him, she knew the loss of control was bad enough.  That it was witnessed was worse.

“I believe I can take it from there,” Severus said finally, and she found that his voice was lacking some of its usual appeal when it sounded so deadened.  At least Hermione no longer felt cold, no matter what his voice sounded like.  “The memories you could not dismiss were mine.  I did not realize it at the time, because both of us were there.”

“But shouldn’t you have been able to tell the difference?” Hermione asked, trying to keep any judgement from coloring her voice, keeping it as clinical as possible.

A muscle jumped around his nose making it twitch and he shook his hair forward, more into his face as he said, “Yes.  There was a seamless transition, which shouldn’t have been possible.”   
  
“Do you think that the connection has something to do with why?” Hermione asked.

“I do,” Severus said, letting the silence reign again as they both thought.

“Were you able to make any headway as to the nature of the connection or when it started?” Hermione asked.

“Other memories were surfacing at the time when I attempted to explore possibilities,” Severus said and Hermione got the impression that this wasn’t everything.

“Were the memories of yours surfacing because of that?” Hermione asked.

“As this is something that no one else has attempted or documented, I can only assume that this might be the case,” Severus said, sitting back in his chair finally and crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione frowned at him.  His words were a roundabout way of saying yes, but she was getting the feeling now that he was either lying or covering something up.  Nothing in his body was giving him away more than normal, but, nevertheless, that was her impression.  As the silence lengthened again, she thought over the sequence of events again.

“I wonder if that would be the case for all memories…” Hermione finally whispered, thinking it over.

Looking up at him she said, “Were all of the memories that included us both recent?  Is it possible you didn't notice the transition because those memories were made after this connection occurred?”

“That is a valid conclusion, though it lacks evidence to support it,” Severus said.

Fear seemed to be bleeding into his voice, but Hermione was slightly confused because it hadn't changed at all.  He still had the same adopted monotone as he had had when they had broken free from their mental contact.  When she realized that, she felt a stab of fear of her own.  What if his being in her head had some other consequences that neither of them had thought of?  Originally, it had been to see if Severus was somehow accidentally pulling magic from her, but they seemed to be revealing more about their connection than anything else.

“The only way to gather more evidence is to repeat it,” Hermione said finally, swallowing hard when she felt the fear creep up again. This time she couldn't tell if it was foreign or her own, because she seemed to be on the same page of not wanting to repeat what had only just occurred.

“I would be inclined to agree,” Severus replied, “Though perhaps not today.”

Hermione let out a breath of relief and then immediately regretted it, looking up slightly guiltily at him.  Severus merely scoffed and looked away from her again.  Hermione could almost feel him having some kind of conflict, though his face was relaxed and contemplative.  Finally he stood, startling her slightly. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said without looking at her and left.

Hermione watched the bedroom door close behind him.  She was starting to have suspicions that something more had happened when she had let him in her head.  His control now was fragile and normally when he was this emotionally raw, she had started feeling cold from him.  She hadn’t felt cold at all after he had broken free from them.  If she was him, she wouldn’t risk it if she was worried something like that might happen again.

Daniel served dinner and Severus didn’t resurface.  A good portion of her wanted to know what he was doing to cope, but she had the common sense not to wonder too much.  Eventually she turned in, climbing into her bed with some trepidation.  

It took her a long time to calm herself down enough to try and sleep.  Her mind was still whirling with the experience that she had shared with the older man.  A good portion of her wanted to repeat the experience, but didn’t dare.  It seemed unfair that while he had gotten a fairly clear glimpse of her mind and memories, but she had been so absorbed in trying to keep her mind clear that she hadn’t really been able to fully embrace the experience.

Hermione shifted a bit on the bed, turning on her side and hitting her pillow up under her arm.  Embrace the experience indeed, that was a terrible choice of phrase.  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her mind from traveling down very dangerous roads.  It was better that the experience hadn’t lasted too long.  She was also desperately grateful that apparently Severus’s Legilimency wasn’t nearly as good, or at least not based on emotions like Voldemort’s had been.  

Curling up into a tighter ball under the covers, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tighter as she tried to forget and yet couldn’t help but remember.  The second that she’d heard his voice echoing in her head, all she could think about was how wonderful his voice had sounded.  It had been even better than it was out loud, sending shivers down her spine even worse than the time he had been reading Milton.  Growling low in her throat, she tossed her body around to her other side.  She was in deep and trying desperately not to sink even lower.  She really didn’t want to hear his voice echoing inside her head again, and yet she found herself wanting it more than she’d wanted anything in a long time.

When sleep came, thankfully her fears had been unfounded.  Whatever had been going on in her head or his head, her dreams were unremarkable enough to not be remembered in the morning.

“What if I initiated the contact?” Hermione asked the next morning.

Severus barely looked at her, all of his concentration on his cup of coffee.  Though she had slept well, Hermione had serious doubts as to whether he had.  How much of his discomfort could possibly be from the day before? 

“I would say that I would have serious doubts as to whether or not you were capable of such a thing,” Severus said curtly.

Three more plates appeared on the table on his side.  Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.  Apparently Daniel felt that a plate of eggs, some cooked potatoes, and a side of fruit were enough for her.  The rather ridiculous amount of food that was now in front of him made Hermione crane her neck around him to look at the bin which, was suspiciously empty.

“Has he taken to trying to overfeed you now?” Hermione asked.

Severus sneered, but didn’t answer.  Hermione shook her head and poured herself another pumpkin juice.  She wasn’t entirely sure how to rephrase her request without either insinuating that he was incompetent or that he couldn’t control himself.  Either was bound to get her into trouble and bruise his ego.

“I would like to try though, if you’re amenable,” Hermione said, clearly shifting back to their original conversation.  “I won’t delve into your memories, but I want to see if I could bring up mine, while behind in your mind.”

“Your premise? Severus asked, his voice curt and precise.  He had been carefully neutral before but she could sense emotions threatening to rise from him.

Hermione carefully set down her juice, trying not to alarm him as she spoke.  “I would like to try and bring up memories, one at a time, and see if there is a block when I can’t anymore.  Or at the very least, a point where the memories don’t feel as if they are shared, one and the same, like you experienced yesterday.”

“Using this to discover the origin point of the bond,” Severus said.  It was a loaded statement, as much a question as not, full with meaning, part suspicion, part fear, and part accusation.

Hermione nodded.  A part of her wanted to test another premise.  Surely Severus would be acting differently if he could now sense her emotions.  She didn’t for a moment have any doubt that if he had been picking things up from her that she would have been confronted already.  If he had any suspicion at all that she was picking up things from him, she had a feeling that things would get rather nasty.

“You know the spell?” he asked, tension practically making him into a statue made of marble.

Hermione nodded.  She had studied the concept, and, being on the receiving end, she had the general idea of how to handle the connection.  As for the spell itself, she’d seen it cast.  Not much had changed since her school years.  There were very few spells that hadn’t worked the first time she’d tried them, and the ones that hadn’t she had only needed to see being demonstrated once to help correct the nuances of pronunciation, inflection, or movement.  There was no need to tell him any of that though.  She highly doubted it would comfort him if she told him she had never cast it before.

Severus stood, abruptly drawing Hermione's attention back to him.  Her eyes briefly took in his barely touched food before tracking his movements to his place by the mantle.  His hands were clasped behind him and she took a brief moment to appreciate how his long fingers were interlaced, how pale they looked when against the black of his frock coat, even when framed with the white of his shirt.  It was only because she was looking so intently that she noticed them tense and spasm before he whirled around, back straight and tense as a bowstring, Hermione's eyes jumping up to his face quickly.

“When you're ready,” he drawled menacingly, stretching out a hand to gesture her forward.

Immediately, Hermione's stomach went into a mess of knots, or a nest of snakes, trying to either make her throw up or pass out.  She knew that most of the wizarding world at this point would give significant money and potentially body parts to get a look inside Severus Snape’s head.  As she stood, taking her time wiping her mouth with her napkin, she tried to quell her nerves.  Most of the wizarding world had no idea what nightmares were locked tight inside the man's skull.  Most couldn't even understand what the constant strain of deception could do to a psyche.  Most had no idea of the things he had done that had so thoroughly taxed his soul.

As she approached, Hermione felt a small shiver and she hadn't even looked him in the face yet.  She opened her mouth to tell him not to do that, when she closed it abruptly.  He didn't know yet that they were still connected, with or without Legilimency, with or without his “block” of her.  If she revealed it now, she doubted that he would let her into his head.  Think like a Slytherin, Hermione, she scolded herself, you've been living with one for almost five and a half months, it shouldn't be that hard.

“If I swear to not delve in anywhere you don't want me to see,” Hermione said slowly, “Do you think that you could refrain from doing whatever it is you did last time?”

“You are proposing entering into my head for the purpose of viewing memories,” Severus said coldly, “Just because you have been living within a short proximity to me, do not make the mistake of assuming you know me.   You do not have the proper discernment to tell whether or not you have delved somewhere I do or do not wish you to see.”

“I will only view my own memories, in your head,” Hermione said firmly.  “If you want me to break it off, I will do so.”

“And you'll be able to tell when I wish you to?” Severus sneered.  “Another presumption.”

Under all the snarling, she could feel something under all of her own nerves at doing this.  Beneath all his snarling and snapping, he was afraid.  Afraid in the very primal way of a trapped animal who fought with all of its strength to escape.  And yet he was still standing in front of her, willing to do it while tinged with cold and trying to get angry enough to get past his reluctance.  Once more, another piece of the puzzle snapped into place in her head.

“How angry would you like to get before we do this?” Hermione said, snapping finally, bracing her hands on her hips.  “You were the one who suggested we try and solve whatever is wrong with me.  You were the one who first suggested Legilimency.  Yes, I may be the one suggesting that I initiate it now, but I didn't hear any logical comebacks from you did I?”

Severus looked frozen in his sneer, but the sensation of cold was dissipating as his anger started rising.

“Where should I start?” Hermione said, her eyes narrowing, “Would you like personal insults?  You weren't the most charming man in school you know, there's a lot of material there.  Or perhaps I should rage at all the unjust things you did as a teacher. No? Should I make rash assumptions about your family?  What about your friends? There's certainly a wealth of anger if I bring Voldemort into the mix!”

“Enough!” Severus suddenly barked out, breathing heavily.  She could feel the anger warming him and shockingly, yelling by the end had certainly helped quell her nerves as well.

They stood there, glaring at each other, Hermione with her hands on her hips and Severus with his hands fisted tightly against his sides.  Slowly, Hermione felt the tension lessen.  Severus turned away. Watching him, she saw his shoulders begin to shake and an absolutely delicious feeling bubbled around in her stomach seconds before she heard it.  

Severus was laughing.  Hermione was so shocked at first that she didn't know what to do.  It was such a warm feeling inside her, and hearing it somehow doubled that feeling.  He had a wonderful laugh, warm and deep, a chuckle more than a full out expression of mirth.  It was still slightly reserved, but because of that, it seemed even more special.  Even though he tried to suppress it, he couldn't help it.  By the time he turned back to face her, his entire face seemed like it had lost ten years, his eyes still held traces of humor, and Hermione was grinning.  The corners of his mouth were uplifted in the smallest, yet most genuine smile she had seen so far.  It had none of the reserve that she had seen so far and it made her grin widen even more.

“How long has it been now?” Severus asked softly, looking away with an almost wondering expression, somehow taking in the pair of them and their surroundings.

“Bit more than five months,” Hermione replied, still smiling, somehow answering the unfinished question. 

Seeing him nod, then shake his head almost ruefully, made her stomach do funny things again.  This time it was for a completely different reason.  How..  _ When _ had they both gotten to the point where they hadn’t had to finish questions and they knew what the other was thinking?  Was this what living with someone for more than five months meant?  Her stomach twisted as she thought of her reluctance with Ron and she shoved it away.

Severus had let the small smile fade from his mouth, but there were still traces in his eyes when he beckoned with his fingers.  Hermione looked behind her as her chair magically brought itself forward to face his.  As they sat, Hermione watched him take a barely visible, steadying breath, before he nodded at her.  

Hermione raised her wand, concentrating on replaying his voice and mannerisms exactly before she said, “Legilimens.”

Hermione felt like she had been abruptly tipped forward out of her chair but was simply continuing to fall without hitting ground.  Images flew past her of a young Severus Snape in Hogwarts robes, an even younger, black haired boy running through a field with too large clothes, Professor Snape striding into the dungeons.  Much as she had before, Hermione let the thoughts and memories slide past her, this time actively trying to get to the common room she had conjured in her own mind.  It was the wrong thing to do.

Severus was in front of the fireplace.  He was younger than his present self, but not by much, gripping the mantle with white knuckles.  Something was wrong with him and it wasn't obvious at first to Hermione as she watched.  Then she saw it.  His left leg was moving and twitching with uncontrollable spasms and though his right leg was supporting him it seemed only just.  Suddenly realizing that she was spying, she quickly closed her eyes, trying  to clear her mind.  

It was harder this time, being in his head instead of hers. She felt his mind surrounding her, seething, but miraculously not cold.  His mind reminded her very much like an ocean she realized.  Rioting constantly between either being boiling hot or storming with freezing cold and covered with ice.  Calm. Hermione forced her mind to calm, dragging his along with her to a place of calm that he would accept.

When she opened her eyes they were on the coast.  Sand was beneath their feet.  Behind them a cliff wall soared tens of feet up.  The water was a deep blue.

“Where is this?” Severus's voice seemed to come from everywhere at once before he appeared beside her.

“Somewhere peaceful,” Hermione said, trying not to acknowledge him.  If she thought of him too much she would succumb to all of the memories and thoughts pressing her from all directions, so easy and tempting to reach out to view and see.

Now it was time to test her theory.  She had only come up with it in the brief seconds after he had left her mind, but somehow it felt right.  For Severus to be able to not recognize that he was viewing his own memories in her head, it meant that it had to do with this strange connection.  That meant that it should work both ways.  Tentatively, Hermione thought of this morning, waking up.

She saw herself stretching in bed and climbing out.  Wincing at her hair, she pushed further back.  Hermione thought of the first morning she had found the window.

Hermione threw off her covers and stumbled out of bed at a half-run to the window. The morning light was cresting between a grove of trees over the rolling green hills. Off to the left, she could make out cliffs that seemed to drop off sharply into a coastline.  Daniel appeared behind her.

“Does Miss Granger like it?” he asked.

She watched herself whirl around to look at the elf.

“I love it, thank you very much,” Hermione said.

Seamless, Hermione thought, just like he said.  She thought to the battle with Selwyn. 

Selwyn’s mad eyes turned to face her and she didn’t get her wand up in time to block the stunning spell that was now in the air barreling towards her.  Her present self winced as she watched her past self get lifted off the ground and thrown backwards into a tree.  Her body hit the trunk with a nasty thump.  Thankfully, it had done the job of distracting him, because his wand arm erupted in a spray of blood from a cutting jinx that Severus had cast, causing him to drop his wand.

Further.  Hermione pushed back to the first night she had arrived.   


“Headmaster Snape and Miss Granger wish to remain at Hogwarts unseen?” Daniel asked with a smile and Hermione grinned at him again, pausing in her journey to watch the clever scene play out again.

“Yes,” Severus said with irritation. “Unseen, unknown, unremarked. Not even Minerva can know that we are here. It can’t be that difficult to keep from her.”

“Only the Head of Hogwarts can ask for such secrecy,” Daniel said with another tug to his ear. “The Head of Hogwarts must know everything from the elves of Hogwarts.”

She saw herself trying not to laugh and Severus’s irritation.  It was truly wonderful.  

“Fine elf, agreed. Now food if you would,” Severus snapped, recovering faster than Hermione.

There was something different now.  Hermione felt the heavy press of Severus's mind, almost as if this was his memory, but she knew it wasn't.  And then suddenly it was and she hadn't noticed the switch.  She watched his face as she laughed and she felt something similar to what she had when he had laughed before.  Pleasure and surprise bubbled in her stomach for a moment before she forced herself onward.  

Back to when she woke up in the Shrieking Shack.  The fear was almost enough to choke on and she momentarily lost control as the memory of her stumbling down the stairs to the entrance to the passage.  

Suddenly she was looking at the terrified face of a young Severus Snape looking up from the passage.  Harry tackled him backwards into the passage and it took Hermione a moment to realize that it must have been James Potter before she forced herself back to the beach.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hermione said gasping for breath like she had been running.  The once still ocean was now crashing on to the sands.  She didn't look around to see if Severus had materialized, instead she forced herself to think of another memory.

They were outside in a field, both casting charms at Rowle, before she had gone forward in time.  It was still her memory.  So it hadn't been the time travel, Hermione thought.  Back.

Hermione thought of the tent.

“It truly was made for soldiers and wartime Healers,” Severus was saying from where he was sitting at the kitchen table.  It had been Hermione’s time to prepare dinner and the scene was so domestic, she found herself watching.  There were subtle differences in the way Severus spoke now.  There wasn’t a shade of suspicion or the air of always holding something back anymore.

“I gathered that it was a last resort, but surely it would be regulated,” Hermione said.

“Of course it is,” Severus said pointedly.  “Though, considering it is exceptionally difficult to brew, the sale of the Mors potion is regulated, not the ingredients.  Apparently some wizards think that is sufficient.”

Hermione watched as she gave a very un-ladylike snort and reminded herself not to do that again.  It didn’t look good on her face.

Then she thought about Hogwarts, when she had been waiting for Voldemort to lay siege to Hogwarts.  Nothing.  In front of her, she watched herself continuing to debate with Severus.  She thought harder, trying to bring the memory until it was in front of both of them.  Still nothing.  

Hermione started thinking about the tent, but further back.  She knew it would bother him, but she thought about how he had acted while hallucinating.  Nothing.  A bit further forward then.  She thought of him seizing, twitching madly while still restrained on the bed.  Nothing.

Then Hermione watched as the scene shifted and she saw herself, completely exhausted, collapsed, with her head cushioned on the bed, right next to his leg.  She watched her eyes open as she sat up and Hermione knew that she had it.  The connection had formed when she had been manipulating Severus’s magic in its raw form.  Which really should have been obvious.

Pulling back, Hermione tried to free from Severus's mind.  It was like trying to pull her feet free of sand while standing in the ocean.  His mind clung and it was difficult to pull back.  Finally, they separated and she sat back, exhausted.  Opening her eyes, she hadn't realized she'd closed them, Severus was sitting, almost slumped back in the chair, his eyes closed, with a small frown darkening the center of his brows and the corners of his mouth.  Looking at the clock on the mantle, she started.  They had been at this for almost two hours.

“You were successful then?” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away, it was so tired and quiet.

Hermione looked back at him.  He still hadn't opened his eyes.  She bit her lip.  He looked in rather desperate need of sleep.  She was reminded of how he had looked after he had had a seizure.  He had held his body very much like it was now, carefully and completely still, with only the trace amounts of emotions showing in the pain of his face.

“I think so,” Hermione said, worry tingeing her voice.

Abruptly his black eyes snapped open and then narrowed at her.  She tried to sense what he was feeling, but apparently whatever had given her the ability after he had been in her mind had dissipated.  She tried to calm her emotions down, but it was difficult to keep from feeling fearful under that level of scrutiny. 

“Since I wasn't able to bring up any of my memories before I came in direct contact with your magic, I believe that's when the connection was formed,” Hermione said, nerves making her stomach feel ill again.

“Anything...else?” He drawled carefully.

Hermione made herself frown and look away from him, as if she was thinking about it.  She was thinking.  Thinking rather frantically about how to explain the other side effects.

“Lucia Fornetti,” Severus said quietly.  “She's easily one of the most gifted witches I have met in terms of healing magic, though her specialization is obscure and new magic. After this is done, you should approach her about untangling this snarl that you have so tightly wrapped us into.”

“Shouldn't you?” Hermione asked.  “Since you know her?” The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.  She surely had no relationship with the woman.  It was possible she had read about her if she was as good as Severus was claiming.

Severus threaded a hand through his hair, not looking at her.

“Lucia comes from a prestigious pureblood Italian wizarding family,” he said finally.  “Her parents were strong supporters of the Dark Lord during the first war.  She had such talent that she was recruited early.  We worked together for a short time.  When the Dark Lord returned, she did not.  I've little doubt that she would have lent her talents to opposing him if she could have done.”

The last was said so softly, almost gently, that Hermione felt a slight pang that she tried to dismiss.  From the curious look that he was leveling at her now, she didn't want to know what kind of feeling he had picked up on.  It was only fair that if she had gotten a peak in his head, he should one in hers.  It was making her angry though, banishing the other feeling.

“Knowing that,” he continued, “She would not willingly speak to me, considering my actions before my near demise.”

“The wizarding world doesn't have as bad as you think,” Hermione said and she remembered where she had read the name Lucia Fornetti.  “Excuse me for a minute.”

Standing, Hermione had to catch herself on the arm of her chair for a moment before she could walk.  Evidently Legilimency took more out of a person that she had learned about before.  When she got to her room, she went straight to her traveling robe, in the wardrobe where Daniel had cleaned and hung it up.  Going to one of the sealed inner pockets, she lifted out Snape: Saint or Scoundrel and Hidden Hero.  Flipping over Hidden Hero, she read some of the reviews from preview readers.  There she looked at the second quote.

“I will always be grateful to both Mr. Potter and Mr.Worple for bringing the public the true account of Severus Snape.  For years, like many, I doubted.  Now, it has been confirmed in my mind that the friend I knew of old still held to the same alliances that he professed to have before.  This biography is a thorough and brutally honest testament to his life and death.” ~ Lucia Fornetti, Head of the Istituto per Magia Arcana, Strega Straordinario, Seconda Classe.

Hermione flipped the book back to the cover.  Now was as good a time as any she decided.  Tucking the books in her arms, she took a steadying breath before she exited her bedroom.  Crossing to where Severus was still sitting, Hermione set them on the table near his elbow, face down, so that Skeeter’s book was on the bottom and the back of  _ Hidden Hero _ faced him.

“I would say she's forgiven you,” Hermione remarked before sitting across from him again.

Severus glanced at them quickly before looking away, an angry sneer twisting his face already.

“Dare I ask what Potter is doing on the back?” He said, disgusted.

“He persuaded the author to publish this one in response to that,” Hermione said, her face screwed up in disgust, “That… horrible woman's book.”

She watched him glance over at them once more.  “I haven't actually read either,” she added, earning her a sneer almost equal to the ones the books had earned.

His nose flaring like he was smelling something particularly foul, Severus reached over and picked up  _ Hidden Hero _ with three fingers.  He held it before him as if it were a disease ridden blanket.  Hermione knew the exact moment when he got to Lucia's review.  His eyes softened and the sneer and flared nostrils all but melted off his face.  Again, Hermione had a terrible feeling inside her stomach and, with a moment of extreme clarity and self-awareness, she finally recognized it for what it was.  Realizing that Severus was now looking at her with a very curious, very suspicious, expression on his face, Hermione quickly stood up and fled the room.

It was the pretense that he would want to read the books in private or at his leisure or something like that.  It wasn't logical and she knew it.  Closing the door behind her, Hermione crossed to the chair in front of her dressing table and sat down miserably.

She was feeling jealous. And possessive.  Of a woman that she had never met.  She had no right to feel this way.  She had always had a gift for knowing the feelings and motivations behind others’ actions.  Though there had been times when she had been unreasonable or overly emotional or argumentative, most of that was behind her.  When she had matured, Hermione had been able to know herself almost as well as she knew other people.

A part of the possessive feelings might be coming from her saving his life.  But the other was due to this mad crush she had developed.  He was free to like whomever he wanted.  He wasn’t the one engaged.  It wasn’t like the two of them would have…

Hermione stood up and began furiously pacing.  And now she had invited him into her head.  How was she going to cover this up?  He noticed everything!  She was barely keeping things under wraps as it was.  She cast a longing glance at the fire, wishing they had a bit more ease of travel.  Now that her parents were somewhere safe that she had never discovered, they were a relatively safe place to visit.  If she could only get there somehow, she thought with longing.

Daniel appeared before her with a pop like an answered prayer.  He was wringing his hands in his towel.

“Is Miss Granger needing things?” Daniel asked, with a glance back at the door leading to the common room.

“Things?” Hermione asked, somewhat confused, “Not really Daniel, no.  Why do you ask?”

“Because…ooo, Daniel should not say, Miss,” the elf said, now tugging his ears, looking again back to the door.

“Is something wrong with Severus?” Hermione asked as more of a prompt to get the elf talking, rather than a belief that her question had any merit.

“Oh no Miss!” Daniel practically squeaked.  “Daniel does think,” he gave his ears a sharp tug, “that the Headmaster is thinking something is wrong for you, Miss.  He is….He is…”

Hermione looked at the door in alarm now.  If he could still sense her through the door then a visit to her parents suddenly seemed necessary, rather than like a pleasant diversion.  She looked back at the elf who seemed to be trying to finish his thought but was unable to do so.

“Now that I think of it,” Hermione said, trying to be calm.  “There is something you could do for me.”

Daniel looked positively radiant with relief, releasing his ears with a grin and beginning to bounce on his toes.

“Do you think you could locate two Muggles for me?”   
  



	25. So Close and Yet So Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every kudo, every bookmark, every comment... I can't even tell you how much it means. It truly helps bring me back to this labor of love even though my life is really crazy right now.
> 
> And my beta who is still amazing.

_ "Luck can only get you so far." ~ Hermione Granger _

 

Daniel had been very happy to help Miss Granger to her Family.  It was good that Miss Granger’s family was also good and kind.  When he had asked permission from Head Elf, it was quickly given.  There was a Great Debt to repay Miss Granger and to vanish her places would help to give service to repay the debt.  Such matters did not come close, but it was best to try.  As Daniel worked in the Hogwarts kitchens, he kept one ear constantly out for the Headmaster’s voice and another for Miss Granger’s.

“Elf,” the word whispered in Daniel’s mind and he immediately vanished the rag he had been cleaning with and appeared before the Headmaster.

The Headmaster was sitting in his chair, a book on his knee.  He was looking at Miss Granger’s door.  He was confused.  And worried.  An elf could tell these things.

“The Headmaster is needing something?” he asked.

“Yes…”the Headmaster said slowly, his eyes narrowing at Miss Granger’s room.  “What is she doing right now?”

“Miss Granger?” Daniel squeaked, listening intently to hear if Miss was calling him.  She wasn’t.  He began nervously twisting the edge of his towel.  Perhaps the Headmaster would disapprove of the trip that Miss had taken.

“I was taking Miss to visit her family Headmaster Snape,” Daniel said,worried.  “Does Headmaster Snape not know?”

Daniel watched him close his eyes, frowning.  He was thinking, thinking hard.  Headmaster Snape was always thinking.

“How far away is she?” he asked finally.

“France,” Daniel squeaked, high-pitched as ever.

The Headmaster’s eyebrows raised.  “France?” he asked, incredulously, before he looked thoughtfully off to the side.  “That far and still…”

Abruptly, the Headmaster looked directly at him,  “That’s all.  You may go.”

Daniel disappeared.  If only the Headmaster would talk to Miss Granger.  He picked up a rag and began cleaning distractedly down in the kitchens which received much of his service when he was not attending to the Headmaster and his guest.  Always an ear out for both of them if they needed him.  The Headmaster still needed Daniel.  He would not let anyone care for him but an elf.  Until he did, he would always need him.  

Daniel paused in his wiping.  It was almost rebellious, he thought, as an elf, to want a wizard to no longer need him.  He renewed his dusting with more vigor.  He believed with all his being that the Headmaster needed someone good and kind and smart and patient.  He also believed that Miss Granger could be this person.  The Headmaster was good with Miss Granger.  Miss Granger understood the Headmaster.  If only he could get them to see it in the other.

That evening, Severus felt her presence return to her room.  He nursed his evening coffee cautiously as he looked at her bedroom door.  He had little understanding of what had happened after she had left his mind.  That he had still been able to sense her was, and had been, unnerving.  Of course, he had the ability to sense, roughly at least, where people were in the castle.  After she had left his mind however, he had had a sense of her that he hadn’t had of anyone before.  

Severus waved a finger around his coffee, warming it a bit, as he thought.  He had seemed to feel her nervousness, her exhaustion, almost as if it had been his own.  He had been suspicious of course, certain that she had done something in his head that he hadn’t realized.  He had suspected, though, that in order to do it, whatever he had been feeling was a side effect of her gaining the same power over him.  He had kept his face blank and summoned all his rage, directed it at her, and nothing had happened, not even a flinch.  If she was as affected as he, she would have not been able to hide a reaction, that he was sure of.

Sipping at his coffee, Severus moved to the bookshelf, letting his eyes casually drift over the spines, not really seeing them, as his mind wandered and his ears remained trained on her door for any sign that she would open it.  It was already after dinner. There was no reason for her to open her door.  No one in their right mind would be so desperate for company as to choose him over solitude if they could help it.  His own solitary dinner had been almost lonely, but for the strange new addition of Miss Granger’s feelings.

When he had asked Daniel where she was, Severus had barely been surprised that she was missing.  The emotions he had been feeling were so strange, so alien, that he knew they could not possibly be his own, not even if he had been going mad.  It was so foreign.  It was if the inside of him had been transported into some of the awfully acted telly that he had once watched over Lily’s house.  Nothing that loving, that perfect, that wonderful could have been real.  And yet, as he had been cutting his chicken, he had felt strangely that the inside of him had been transported into one of those programs, as if all of the overacted emotions had been real and had been his.  It was as if his chest was so warm that ice would never grow there again, as if he had been safe.

The door behind him opened and it was all he could do to keep from looking round at her.  He wasn’t sure he was ready to see her happy and relaxed face, fresh from being so loved by her family.  He wasn’t sure what seeing that would do to him.

“Hi,” came the quiet whisper and he had to turn to face it.  As sure as the sun had to rise, he had to turn and see the owner of that voice.

Hermione was standing there.  She had changed into a more worn pair of jeans that had pale patches at the knees and a long-sleeved tee with a white, soft-looking jumper over it.  He barely stilled the rebellious thought that wondered what it would feel like. The boots she had traded for soft looking slippers that had definitely been found by Daniel.  They seemed warm, but were over-sized and seemed to only make her look younger and more innocent than he already knew she was.  Her hair was in a messy braid, bits flying in front of her face, and she had a slightly sheepish-looking expression on her face.

Severus realized that he had been staring so he simply raised an eyebrow, causing her to flush slightly and lower her eyes.  He could feel the embarassment and discomfort in her, but he couldn’t truly understand why - not yet, anyway.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t been around,” she said, a shy smile on her face.  “I…”

“Needed an escape, I surely can’t blame you” Severus said with a small sneer.  Even though he couldn't blame her for needing to escape him, it still somehow stung in a way he didn't think possible.  “Daniel already admitted it.”

Shockingly, he felt her hurt at his statement and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“That’s not why,” she began hastily, but then she got a curious look on her face and looked at him suspiciously.  “Nevermind.  I just wanted to see if my parents were doing well.  And I figured I would give you some privacy.  I know you haven’t really had space from me either.”

Severus was momentarily flustered, though he knew that it wasn’t showing on his face.  He could still feel the slight sneer in the curl of his mouth and around his nose. He wanted her to agree.  Now that he had a look into her head though, he knew that his previous suspicion was completely incorrect.  He knew that they had been working well together, but he still held the belief, deep down, that she didn’t want to be here.

Hermione seemed a bit nervous, though she was getting better at controlling the emotions on her face.  She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but then a pot of tea, a cup, and a small tray of biscuits appeared on the table.  He could feel her relief as she made her way over, the awkwardness that had grown cutting off with the distraction.

“And how were your parents?” Severus asked, inwardly cringing.  He hadn’t wanted to ask that, he hadn’t wanted to say anything.  But it was already late and he hated how much he wanted her company now that he had been without it for the better part of a day.

Hermione looked at him with surprise, but she looked back to the tea she was stirring before she answered, “They’re okay.  Surprised to see me, but they were glad that I was safe.”

Severus nodded, letting the silence descend once more before he thought about escaping to his bedroom.  He turned back to the books on the shelf.

“Did you read them?” Hermione asked finally.

Severus turned around, veiling part of his face with hair that he didn’t bother to move out of the way.  His eyes followed hers to where she was looking at the two vile volumes sitting on the table next to his armchair.  His lip curled in disgust again and he looked back at the shelf, his fingers skimming the spines.  

He had tried to read them.  The spy in him considered them information, and the more information that was known, the safer he would be.  In this case, however, his hand tightened around his coffee in a spasm; the knowledge had made him literally ill.  And then, after he had set them down, fully prepared to throw them into the fire and then continue throwing things until he felt better and less nauseated, the emotions had begun.

It hadn’t mattered that he hadn’t slept at all the night before.  He couldn’t have slept a moment as soon as he felt what she had when she had seen her parents.  It had been too intense, too perfect, too loving.  It had driven him to distraction.  It was all he could do just to be still and  _ feel _ .

“I guess that’s a no then,” Hermione said uncomfortably and he heard her chair scrape back as she stood.  “I’m sure you’re tired, I know I am.  We’ll talk about everything in the morning?”

Severus nodded without turning around, even as he felt himself tense.  He loathed every bit of himself for not being able to make her stay longer.  Even though he was still exhausted from not sleeping the night before, it took him a long time to get to close his eyes that night.

The next morning, Hermione woke refreshed and happy.  Seeing her parents had been amazing.  Even though they had seen her a week ago, to her they were back from the dead.  Wonderfully, her mother had understood and treated her almost like a child again.  

Hopefully, she thought as she dressed, the residual connection between Severus and her would have timed out by now.  She was under no false delusions that it hadn’t happened.  As she slipped her feet into her boots again - they would probably be experimenting again so the amazingly comfortable slippers would have to wait - she wondered how she could test whether he could still sense her.  A moment of fear almost paralyzed her when she realized that she wasn’t sure if the side effect would time out at all, or if it had only ended because she had entered  _ his _ mind.  God couldn’t be that cruel, she thought nervously, running a brush through her hair, nerves knotting her stomach now.  At least, she hoped not.

Their breakfast was peaceful and Hermione thought that Severus looked better rested than the day before.  A look at the bin revealed that it was once again empty, but she thought better of asking about it.  As they finished eating, it was quickly revealed that Severus was going to waste no time.

“As we discovered last night the cause of the connection, we may be more able to dissect its characteristics,” he said the moment that her napkin touched the table.

_ Right, to it, then, _ Hermione thought, though a part of her thrilled over the fact that he had waited until she was finished eating to begin, a nicety that she hadn’t thought he was capable of, even now.

“Do you still think that it has anything to do with the rest of the problem though?” Hermione asked, standing and following him down to the potions lab.

From behind, Hermione allowed herself a brief luxury again of observing how smoothly and purposefully he walked.  It shouldn’t have been possible for someone to descend stairs in an alluring manner, she thought.  As she caught the thought, her eyes widened in panic, but he hadn’t paused at all.  Hopefully, that meant that the ability to sense her emotions had timed out.  She swallowed hard before she stepped down and into the lab.  She fervently hoped so anyway.  

“My instinct says no,” Severus said finally, so much later from his position by the black board that Hermione had nearly forgotten her question.

On the blackboard it now read:

Possible Causes:

**- ~~Previous medical condition~~**

**- ~~Poison~~**

**- ~~Long-term spell damage~~**

\-         Drain from mental connection

\-       **~~Drain from spells cast~~**

\-         Consequence from time travel

\-         Cause found in Hogwarts

\-         Magical creature unknown

Hermione swallowed as she looked at the list.  The time travel they could research, but they couldn’t really test.  She didn’t think so anyway.  There were probably devices hidden down and away in the Department of Mysteries for such an occasion.  The last two were as good as crossed off in her opinion.  If Severus as the Headmaster and the house elves couldn’t find something in his heavily warded rooms, she trusted them enough now to believe that a threat didn’t exist from that direction.

“The mental connection now,” Severus said, “I believe we may have to develop a plan to test it when it happens again.”

Hermione watched him as he idly turned his wand in between his hands, his eyes looking up at the stone ceiling.  Forcing her eyes away, she walked around her designated table and perched herself on top of it, waiting for him to finish the idea.  Her eyes were soon drawn back to his hands rolling the wand, the motions almost hypnotic as it rolled from the heel of one hand and fingertips of the other, to the reverse, back and forth.  It stopped, and Hermione realized with a jolt that she had been staring again, and deliberately looked away to counting potions bottles in one of the cabinets rather than risk glancing at his face.

“I have given considerable thought as to the spell you cast on me while you were saving my life,” Severus said and Hermione just barely choked back ‘which time’.  “I would like you to demonstrate it for me and allow me to practice it on you.  We will be then able to have you under its effects during the next attack.  If it is at all linked to something physical, it may stem the flow of magic and perhaps cease the effects entirely.”

Hermione frowned, thinking, “It might work.  I don’t see of any problems with it.  The only thing I might be able to foresee that if it is somehow a time limit, that  _ Immstatis Mortis _ might only break it up into two attacks.”

Severus nodded, “But there will be time to see if I can trace the spell to its source during the designated time, which I believe was the spell’s original intent.”

Hermione nodded.  Any plan was better than where they were with it now.  The rest of the day passed as they discussed plans for the next attack which she was desperately, and almost certainly vainly, hoping would not happen.  They had even made a provision for if the attack happened at night, having Daniel appoint one of the elves to come to Severus immediately if it happened.  It added another element of fear for Hermione that she hadn’t considered before.

They eventually took a break from it.  Hermione normally loved to dissect things into steps and to form plans and charts, but thinking about the reason behind it, her trying to stop something from killing her, made her more anxious than she liked to admit.  After they broke for lunch, Severus started talking about a problem he was having in a part of a secret communication spell and Hermione seized the change in topic with relief.  It wasn't until she was tucking into bed that she realized they had been so busy that they hadn't mentioned Legilimency once.

November came and the Halloween decorations were finally put away.  Severus and Hermione now had their working plan for the attacks, but nothing more could be done until one happened again.  Hermione would catch him suddenly looking away from her at the oddest times and it was making her uncomfortable.  She knew that he was watching for signs an attack was starting, but she was always nervous that he would pick up on her lingering feelings.

If anything, the stupid crush she had developed was only growing worse.  They were so comfortable with one another now that it was bordering on intimate.  She would bring him coffee to his chair if he had left it on the table.  He would bring her the next book she needed without her having to ask for it, or sometimes before she realized she needed it.  Their discussions were lively and occasionally heated, but they no longer featured any meanness in the insults they used.  Shockingly to Hermione, unlike when Ron and she argued, the arguments she had with Severus served to only heighten her admiration and feelings for him.  There was just so much raw talent and intelligence that neither could hold back when their tempers rose to defend their separate points. 

It was over one of these heated debates, down in the potions lab, that the anticipated moment happened.  At the end of the second week of November, Hermione was about to berate him on his use of goblin blood when it hit her.

“I can't believe you would-” she began before she abruptly dropped to her knees on the floor of their common room.

It was more powerful this time and she felt her heart stop, her head and body going quiet for a terrifying few seconds as her lungs gasped in air that did nothing.  Her hands went tingling and numb.  She barely gave any thought to the words coming out of Severus.  Her vision was going dark.  Then nothing.

The second he saw Hermione stumble, Severus had his wand drawn, the litany of spells spilling out of his mouth almost immediately.  Her magic once again became visible as she collapsed to her knees.  He flew to her side, catching her at the same time as he cast  _ Immstatis Mortis _ , her body going completely limp in his arms as he lowered to the floor.

The result was instantaneous. As soon as her body went limp under the effects of the spell, the colors that represented her magic rushed from her arms and legs to her heart where it was quickly draining away.

“Finite incantem!” Snape shouted, panicked, as her body still stayed limp, though the flow of magic ebbed slightly and was now feeding away slower.

Severus frantically felt for a pulse against the skin of her neck and briefly registered a slight pulling feeling from himself to her, but ignored it as he couldn’t feel her heartbeat at all.  Cursing with some of the foulest phrases he knew in Goblin, he raised his wand to deliver a shock to her heart when her eyes flew open.  Hermione gasped frantically for air, arms flailing, as Severus checked for her pulse again and found it restored.

Hermione seized his arms, clinging to them as she gasped for air.  Her eyes frantically sought out his face, and though he was able to keep his features mostly impassive and unexpressive, he felt that she surely could hear his own thundering heartbeat.  They stared at each other for only a few brief moments, him suspended half over her, caught there by her hands when she had grabbed him.  He pulled away, taking her with him as she shakily sat up, not releasing his arms.  Her eyes were still wide with panic, her breath coming in more easily now, but still on the verge of hyperventilating.

When she was sitting up, Severus sitting beside her now instead of crouching, she looked him in the face, really looked.  Severus knew the exact moment when she realized that their plan hadn’t worked, that the attack had happened, that something was wrong, and that they were very clueless as to how to fix it.  He watched something break in her eyes as panic gave way to fear and fear gave way quickly to terror-filled anguish.  Still not releasing his arms, Severus watched her fold in on herself and start to shake.

Severus was at a loss.  It would be the second time now that he was in a position like this.  He had never been comfortable comforting students either, though he certainly had been called to their common room several times over his tenure as Head of House.  Now though, he felt helpless and reluctant in a way that he hadn’t ever felt before in his life.  He was torn between offering comfort and pulling away with equally polarizing forces rivaling each other in strength.  A portion of him wanted to use the opportunity as an excuse to hold her where the other dared not to and risk showing exactly how much he wanted to use it as an excuse to hold her.

She hadn’t let go of him.  Severus shifted slightly, adjusting some weight off of his bad leg which pulled him slightly back and away from her, taking her with him because she still hadn’t relinquished the hold on his arms.  The moment seemed to be the catalyst for her.  The shaking dissolved into sobs as she leaned into him, curling against him as the side of her head touched his chest.

Severus wished that he could decide what to do.  If she was still a student, perhaps he would have tried to offer some physical comfort.  The experience she had gone through was of course terrifying and deserving of something of that nature.  But in his position, now, comforting a woman full grown who was engaged to someone else, that he was rapidly gaining an attraction to, this was not an option.  Thankfully, he was spared the thought, because although she had leaned into him, she still kept her vice grip on his arms, not allowing him to fully pull away or to draw her in closer.

Eventually the tears subsided, but Hermione stayed there, leaning against him.  The moments of stillness stretched.  The awkwardness passed as he felt more of the weight of her leaning on him and the tension in the air grew into something else, something it couldn't.  All he could feel was the cold stone through his robes and trousers, against his fingertips which were still slightly supporting him as they feared to move anywhere else but the floor.  He felt the tension in her hands around his forearm and elbow.  He could smell her hair which was a mix of vanilla and something he couldn't yet identify but was familiar.  If he could only think clearly he would know.

The grip on his arms lessened and she moved closer.  Severus panicked, tension immediately singing through his back and legs as if he was preparing to run.  But miraculously, she hadn't seemed to mind.  He could feel his heartbeat speeding up again, the pounding of his blood as he just ever so briefly wished that she wasn't this close to him because he had been trying to save her life, but because she wanted to be, because she wanted… Suddenly, he felt something else, something that hadn't happened to him in a very long time that spurred him into action faster than a runaway Blast-Ended Screwt.  He pulled back quickly, freeing his arms from her hands, immediately spurring on apologies from Hermione.

“I'm sorry,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her hands under them, “I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to…”

Hermione turned her back to him, the trembling of her shoulders beginning again.  Severus began violently berating himself, most especially cursing the part of his body that had decided that  _ now _ of all bloody times was a good time to come back to life.  The obviousness of her distress had killed all other urges and reactions as quickly as they had come, he was grateful to know.  At least his life experiences hadn't mauled him too terribly.  He stood, wincing as his bad leg and knee protested being in such a cramped and cold position on the floor.  Walking around, he offered her a hand.

Hermione looked at it, then up at him with a bit of astonishment through her tears.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he whispered quietly.  He opened his mouth to continue, but he couldn't say the words.  He should have been apologizing.  For being inadequate, for being stupid, for not having the answers she needed, for… for trapping her with him.

Hermione took his hand and he reveled in how warm it was in his own.  He found himself not wanting to let go, even after she had stood.  

Staring at their joined hands with a courage he hadn't thought he had, he didn't immediately release her when he said, “We will find out how to fix this.”

Severus was glad when she drew her hand away, even though he found himself mourning the loss the second she did.  His hand dropped to his side quickly, closed in a fist as if he could somehow keep her heat in his palm.  It would have led to suspicions if he had held on even a second more, and he wasn't ready or willing to put either of them through that.

When she retreated up the stairs to her bedroom, claiming to just need a few minutes to collect herself, Severus didn't follow.  The experience had brought on a few more theories that they could test, but he couldn't shake a feeling of dread.  The pessimism that been his old friend for years reared its head again.  Their theories hadn't worked, their ideas were almost completely worn out.  If putting her into any kind of stasis wouldn't work, his ideas now were even more limited.  As they often did, his negative feelings gave way quickly to anger.

Grabbing the nearest jar, he threw it angrily to smash against the wall.  Damn the universe!  He had thought that there had been some sense of justice when he had been given this second chance at life.  Justice for all of the things he had suffered.  His father the bastard, his mother the weak, the bullying gang at school, the manipulation of the Death Eaters, Voldemort, Dumbledore.  Lily.

Severus gripped the edge of his work table with white knuckles.  Always Lily.  He had thought that she had been the universe's way of repaying him for his hardships, once upon a time.  She was a brief light to the darkness, evidence that the way that he was currently living was not the only way or the right way.  He could have been good, for her.  At least he had thought.  But no, he had poisoned her.  Instead of bringing him to her light, he had dragged her into darkness.  He was a poison.

It was the slight sound of rattling that brought him back to reality as he looked up to see the rack of test tubes rattling in their stand.  He let go of the table abruptly, backing away from it.  He hadn't realized he had been trembling until then and now he couldn't stop.

It had been a few rare weeks where he hadn't thought of her once, and now, in the face of this revelation, he couldn't stop.  He  _ was _ a poison.  No good pure thing could come into his presence without being tainted by his filth.  His back hit the stone wall and he looked down at his shaking hands.  Lily had been right to run.  Maybe she had always known, deep down, that he would have been the cause of her demise.  He couldn't even keep his damn promise to Dumbledore to look after her son, couldn't get past the stupid, bloody hair, and  _ face _ so like his bloody  _ father's. _  It was good they hadn't grown close.  Chances are the Chosen One would have died too soon.

And now. Now, a slightly hysterical laugh choked his throat closed, vocalizing only as a slight hiccup.  Now he had been saved, years of torture, spying, manipulating, isolation, and deception ended by the most brilliant witch he had ever known, and he had ruined it.  He knew it was somehow his fault, because how could it not be?  She had been fine on her own, engaged to one of the other members of their Golden Trio.  And then she had attempted to save his sorry life and look what it got her.  Most likely death.

Severus knew that he was irrational, borderline hysterical, but he couldn't stem the flow of emotions anymore.  It had gotten past the possibility of Occluding them away.  He ran hands through his hair as he tried to calm his heart rate before he drove himself straight into an anxiety attack.  He couldn't stop thinking that this was his fault.  It was his fault for developing feelings for her.  Somehow this was the universe's way of punishing him yet again for trying to have a life, friends, perhaps even happiness.  That was impossible for Severus Snape.  He should have remembered that.  He slammed his fists backward into the wall behind him, barely registering the pain.  He had to fix this somehow, but there was too much of an overwhelming sense within him that it couldn't be fixed.  He couldn't fix things.  He could perhaps prevent bad things from getting worse, but he was far better at destroying good things than fixing them.  His head leaned back against the wall and he closed his eyes tightly.  He would do what he could because he had promised to fix it.  If only he believed that he could.

Tucked away by the stairs, an invisible presence was crying silent tears and wringing the now fraying corners of the towel it wore instead of clothes.  Somehow, it thought, it would help.  Somehow it would help fix this mess that the humans had made.


	26. Consequences of Changing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This ends on a cliffhanger. It's totally fair if you want to wait until I post the next one. But I've already started writing the next one! I promise! And this one is long so... don't hate me too much.

_"Hermione...what if we. We just run in there and grab Pettigrew?"_

_"No!" said Hermione in a terrified voice, "Don't you understand? We're breaking one of the most important wizarding laws. Nobody's supposed to change time, nobody. You heard Dumbledore, if we're seen..."_

It took Hermione a good five minutes to get herself calmed down from near hysteria.  No amount of self-help coaching could convince her to be reasonable as she let the panicky tears continue to flow down her face.  Wishing she could have somehow been more mature about it, she had ended up in the bathroom, her knees pulled up to her chest, the cold floor making her shiver through her jeans.  Pressing her forehead tightly to her knees, she tried to make herself stop crying. 

A warm orange head butted her shins, making her look up.  Hermione choked out a laugh and scratched Crookshanks behind the ears.  Backing her body up slightly so that she had her back to the bathroom vanity, she crossed her legs in front of her and let her cat curl up in her lap.  She rested her head backwards as the tears eased and Crooks began to purr.

Her logic was failing her in a way that had never happened before.  She just couldn't bring herself to work through the problem.  Thinking about Severus, she wondered what he was thinking right now.  She turned her head and pressed her cheek to her jeans that were now slightly damp with tears.  It had been the second time that he had had to deal with her being hysterical.  How little he probably thought of her now.  That didn't matter, she thought firmly.  Though, Hermione thought about how he had held her hand, how he had let her lean on him, and a bit of her sadness bled away to leave a shockingly peaceful numbness.  Perhaps if the situation wasn’t so dire, she might have felt something else.  Shame, perhaps, longing, embarrassment, or even desire with the crush still in play.  All she felt now was wrung out from the after-effects of the attack and her crying.

When she finally pushed off from the floor, Hermione wasn’t sure how long she had been there.  Crookshanks had abandoned her minutes before, obviously satisfied that she wouldn’t begin her crying again.  The cold had managed to seep its way into her bones, however, and she had to make a detour back into her bedroom for her oversized jumper that she had picked up from her parents’ home, and that hung low over her jeans and made her need to cuff the sleeves a bit to show her hands.  After, she poked her head into the common room, but found it empty.  She shouldn’t have been surprised, she thought as she descended the staircase once more.  The thought of Severus Snape climbing the stairs into her bedroom while not knowing whether or not a crying woman would greet him did not seem his style.

When she entered the lab, Hermione realized that she wasn’t the only looking the worse for wear.  Severus looked positively haggard.  It was rare for him to shed any layers, even more so for him to push his sleeves up, but he had done.  The frockcoat had been thrown over the only one of the tables not being used, followed by the waistcoat.  His shirt he had rolled up on his forearms, showing off the Dark Mark as he flexed his left forearm when he ran his hand through his hair.  Hermione couldn’t help but stare at it.  It had faded to an almost shiny white, like the remains of a scar long healed.  He looked at her, slightly startled, before the trademark sneer and disinterest once again covered his face and he looked away.  Hermione was so numb that she barely registered that he might have been sneering at her tear streaked appearance.

“I may have overlooked something in the heat of the moment,” Severus said, breaking the silence abruptly.  

“And what was that?” Hermione asked, shocked at how tired her voice sounded, rounding the table apart from him and sitting on the stool there.

“There may yet be a way to fight this,” Severus said.

As Hermione watched him, she realized that he was very carefully not looking at her.  He went to the blackboard to pick up a piece of chalk, but wrote nothing.  He continued speaking as he paced to one of the cabinets.

“Though your status spell was unsuccessful, the way in which it was unsuccessful may provide a method,” Severus said, spinning the chalk between his right fingers as his eyes skimmed flasks with no true target.  “The moment your body became passive was the moment that the drain became more extreme, drawing your magic with no resistance.  I believe now that the cause is passive, rather than active.  This means the more you fight, the more present you are, the less damage will be able to be done.”

“Fight?” Hermione gasped out, shock finally permeating the post-crying haze that she had been in. “How can I possibly fight?  My heart stopped!”

“I am aware of that, Granger,” Severus snapped, turning to face her with an almost furious look.  “That is why we will try to find a way to keep it beating and you conscious.”

Hermione flinched in the face of his anger, but thankfully having weathered enough of his tempers, she tried not to take it personally.  It was hard with her wanting to almost start crying again, even now.

“Do you have a plan to do that yet?” Hermione asked finally, when she felt that she could keep the tears at bay.

“No,” Severus snapped.  Hermione heard a snap and looked down.  Severus held up the chalk to his face which his hand had accidentally broken in half.  She watched his face contort into a snarl and he threw the pieces at the blackboard, one bouncing from the board into the tray at the bottom, the other to the floor.

“There is something that we can do now,” Severus said.  “When was the last time your magical stores were measured?  Before our own diagnostics.”

The question caught Hermione off guard, though she knew at once why he had asked.  She had to think about it.  Though when they were researching after the first attack, Severus had taken a measurement of her magic’s base levels, she couldn’t remember the time previous to that.  The Ministry had tried when she applied for a job, but she had flatly refused.  There was no medical or magical need for them to know her personal strength.  Which left…

“Poppy,” Hermione said.  “Right before I took my N.E.W.T.S.”

Severus nodded. “Good.  Those will not be difficult to get.  And while I pilfer her records, I might as well drop some of the standard potions she’ll be needing.  It’s nearly Christmas break and I do believe that was one of your…  _ hints _ .”

He said the last with such a tone of irritation and disgust that Hermione barely repressed another flinch.  She crossed her arms over her chest.  She had neither the will nor the energy to fight back or interrogate him about his nastiness.  All she really wanted was dinner and bed.  At least, whatever else was happening, this latest attack had opened her eyes.  How she could have thought herself attracted to someone that couldn’t manage to be civil when someone was dying.  That thought made her throat close with tears again so that she felt like she was choking.

“I…” Severus began, making her look up.  He was staring fixedly at the wall as if by sheer will his eyes could burn a hole through the stone..  “I...apologize.  I am not...this is not your… I should have kept my temper.  It was not directed at you.”

And with that simple apology, Hermione knew that she was still in desperate, desperate trouble.

Before dinner, Severus performed the diagnostic spells revealing her magic’s current levels.  As expected, they were lower than their previous tests.  Seeing the results though actually calmed her more than she thought she could be calmed.  Overall, there seemed to only be a one percent difference in the two different readings.  Looking at Severus's face as he looked over the results, she saw that he did not seem as relieved as she felt.  Frowning, she looked back at the results, trying to see what was obviously still concerning him.  She could find nothing new.  She thought harder.  This was the third attack, which meant that if this was the progression, for all that it was terrifying, it hadn't seemed to do much to her magic at all.

"Shouldn't this be good news?" Hermione asked finally when it was clear Severus wasn't going to say anything.

"We will need to check Poppy's records," Severus said with a note of finality that left her a bit shakier than her initial relief had allowed her.

"You think that the first attacks drained more than this one?" Hermione asked, suddenly fearful.

"No," he drawled out slowly, "But it would be wise to check."

That evening, the potions lab became that once more.  Hermione watched him laying out five separate brewing stations, all with their own ingredients lined up meticulously by step and then by category.  He moved around her as if she wasn't there, with an air of doing something he had done hundreds of times before.  It was relaxing in a way, and slightly hypnotizing in the way that she was just allowed to watch and not have to think anymore about what was truly bothering her.  It wasn't until all of the stations had been set that he moved to the spare table, throwing his waistcoat and frock coat over his arm, and made for the staircase.  Severus paused in the archway, looking back at her through his hair.

"Daniel will have served dinner by now," he said before striding up the stairs, leaving her alone.

Hermione blinked a bit in the wake of his sudden departure as if she was coming back to herself.  Inwardly, she did a bit of a mental check.  She supposed she was still in shock.  It had been hours, but she was still having a bit of difficulty taking things in.  She should be starving by now, she thought as she made herself stand and follow Severus back up the stairs.  Her body was feeling alien to her at the moment, but she attributed that to the shock as well, not as another symptom.

The dinner Daniel had prepared had been wonderful.  Hermione only wished that she could have appreciated it.  If she was honest with herself, she was beginning to feel starved, but in a different way.  She wanted to go back to her parents, if only to receive the love and validation that only a close hug could bring.  There was no way that she could trust herself to do it, though.  Her mother was too perceptive and would immediately know that there was something wrong.

As she changed for bed, Hermione realized with a start that she hadn’t said anything over dinner, not even to bid Severus a good night.  It wasn’t unusual for their to be silence, but for her to completely forget her manners was unlike her.  Shock, Hermione, she reminded herself, shock.  

“You’ve had a nasty shock, he’ll understand,” she whispered to her knees as she tucked them up under the covers.  “You’ll get through this.  You’ll find a way, you always do.  The solution’s there, you just have to find it.”

The truth was though, she wanted to feel the enthusiasm that she which would normally send her streaking towards the library for the next source.  It was all she could do now to exist, she felt so lost and tired.  Rolling over and seeing the empty side of the bed, Hermione found herself for the first time in a long time truly missing Ron.  She would have given anything for his arms around her and for him to tell her that everything would be alright.  Wrapping her body around the extra pillow, she squeezed it tightly, wishing there was someone safe that she could go to with all of this.  It took less time than she had thought it would have for her to eventually fall into an uneasy sleep.

As November passed, Hermione was eventually able to shake off the residual shock that had followed the last attack, but it was apparent that Severus had not.  He was angry constantly and Daniel had taken to giving him extra fodder to vent it on, clearly evidenced by the reappearance of morning rubbish being tossed into the large bin every morning.  Hermione didn’t comment on it, because Daniel had a point.  She could not begin to imagine what her living companion would be like if he didn’t have the opportunity to vent any of his anger before he saw her.  It was bad enough as it was.

There were warning signs though that Hermione knew that let her know when he was approaching the edge of his temper.  His nostrils would flare, or his fists would clench, or there was just a certain noticeable tension that showed in the stiffness of his back and shoulders and she would know to leave whatever room that he was in before he lost his temper and vented it on her.

The potions lab downstairs now had transformed into a potions lab once more.  Their research still was ongoing, but it was now interspersed with brewing that seemed to help both of them relax.  There was a rhythm and method to each station that calmed Hermione’s mind and at least let her forget for a little while that she was somehow fighting for her life.  It unfortunately led to other thoughts that were still somehow just as dangerous.

Watching Severus Snape brew potions was like watching an artist paint.  It was the appreciation of a master.  Somehow, he made brewing even simple potions look amazing because he was constantly moving between at least three of them.  His eyes might be watching one station critically for temperature, while his hands were stirring the cauldron in front of him, and only seconds later he used his wand to move the third cauldron off the heat to cool.  The times and recipes he all seemed to have stored in his head.  When he gave her a station, for something like Pepper-Up Potion or an Antidote to Common Poisons, she would have altogether too much time to spend watching him.

Their days were now spent between brewing and discussing the latest theories, wards, spells, and experimental potions that Severus had been now submitting to journals around the wizarding community.  Unfortunately for Hermione, this was almost too much.  If potions brewing gave her an appreciation for what his hands were capable of, the banter and discussion of ideas was even worse.

“As I have never actually harvested anything of the sort, so I’m sure I wouldn’t have any idea.  Theoretically though, there should be no difference,” Hermione said, rising to the bait yet again.

“I assure you, witch’s ganglion, when harvested and then used within the hour, provides an entirely different Potion of All Potential,” Severus said with a smirk.

“Which you of course have done,” Hermione said with a smile, sure that there was a story to go along with this.  Crookshanks leapt up into her lap and she started petting him with a smile.

“Naturally,” Severus said, and Hermione’s smile stretched into a full grin as she saw a rare glimpse of the confident and egotistical side of Severus peek out.  “One of the fringe benefits of being a wizard with the ability to Apparate from West to East and then East to West again without having to miss a cup of tea in the comfort of one’s own home.  Though in my case, I suppose,” he saluted her with his cup, “that would be coffee.”

Hermione shook her head, though she didn’t actually mean to disagree.  Taking a sip of her tea, she couldn’t help but look at him with fond exasperation.  The smirk on his face, full of confidence that bordered on bravado, made her have to look away at anything else to try and keep her stomach from doing cartwheels.  Looking back over her shoulder, she could just make out the calendar. 

It was the third week in November, soon to be December.  Frowning, Hermione looked into her tea.  For the first time she found herself wondering what to do about Christmas.  She’d want to get him something, but she wasn’t sure what.  It seemed so trivial, but it was important to her.  The holidays were always special, it didn’t seem right not to celebrate them.  There was a small flaw in her plan.  Besides his coffee addiction, his absolute brilliance with potions and spells, there weren’t too many other things she knew about him.  Except… the night was old in her memory, but it stood out so clearly among all the others.

“How did you get a CD player to work in the castle?” Hermione asked abruptly.

Severus’s face immediately dropped to careful neutral, losing all the traces of humor that had grown since their conversation began over dinner.  Inwardly, Hermione flinched slightly, knowing now that she had accidentally tread into a forbidden topic.  She bolstered her courage though.  It had been a harmless question, no matter how he chose to take it.

“The magic surrounding Hogwarts affects chiefly the power sources that would be used for Muggle electronics.  Once the power source is of a magical nature, nearly every device can be used,” he said rather stiffly, uncomfortable.

“So you managed to give the player a magical power source,” Hermione extrapolated. 

“Obviously,” Severus drawled before he abruptly stood.  “Now if that is the end to your incessant prodding into my personal affairs I…”

“Oh it definitely isn’t,” Hermione said, following his progress with her eyes, “You never minded before when I asked you questions about spells that you had invented.  You did invent this one, didn’t you?”

Severus paused, nearly to his bedroom, before he turned back around, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  Hermione grinned in triumph.  He wasn’t denying it, which meant that he certainly had.  

“So, you’re objecting than to the next question before I ask it,” Hermione said, nearly perched on the edge of her seat, “And hoping to escape before it occurs to me to ask it.  But you are out of luck this time Severus Snape, because the reason I began this conversation was to ask you in a roundabout way what music you listen to, not because I was curious over the spell.”

A muscle twitched near his nose and she could practically see the temper rising.  Hermione watched with humor as his logical brain tried to find a way to tell her to sod off without actually revealing how personal a question it was.

“How about this,” Hermione said, grinning now as she tucked her feet up under her on her chair, “Two truths and a lie.  If I can spot the lie you tell me, then you have to at least give me a band name to a CD you own.”

Severus looked at her, incredibly suspicious, but he hadn't returned to his full retreat into his room.  Hermione knew before he started walking back towards her that she had him.  It was too appealing to his Slytherin side that she had actually given him an opportunity to trick her.  Trying to quell her grin as he stopped just behind his chair, propping one arm over the back, Hermione watched him swirl the remnants of coffee in his cup as he thought.  She knew the moment that he found the lie because his lips twitched.

“Very well,” he said, looking up at her and continuing in a carefully flat monotone, “I received O's in all of my N.E.W.T.S., I set a Catherine wheel lose in Umbridge’s office, and I like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.”

As soon as he began, Hermione immediately looked away, to make sure her face didn't give her away as well as to give her the appearance of someone thinking.  She knew exactly which was the lie, but she only knew because she had looked up his scores in the library when she had returned to take her N.E.W.T.S.  As soon as Harry had told her that he had been the Half-Blood Prince, she had wanted to know, but the moment had been completely overshadowed by the rest of that night’s events.

“Come Miss Granger,” Severus said in a mocking and condescending tone, smirk fully in place, that made Hermione lose her battle with a smile and look up, “Surely you can take that one for the gift it is?”

“Well I know you're brilliant,” Hermione said and she saw the smirk twitch slightly as he thought he had got her, “Everyone detested Umbridge, so I would have expected you to do something of that sort if you could have done.  But I can't believe anyone actually  _ likes _ those candies.”

Severus opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand to forestall him, “So I find it amazing that you do.  The lie is that you got only O’s on your N.E.W.T.S.”

It was so marginal, but Hermione saw him deflate just a bit and she laughed.  Months ago, she would not have dared to, but now instead of storming off or snapping at her, Severus only glared and looked somewhat flummoxed.  It made her laugh again, though more subdued now, and she saw tension lift momentarily around his eyes.  They hardened again moments later though as both forearms came to rest over the back of his chair to cradle his coffee.

“Your taste in music cannot be that abysmal ,” Hermione said finally, trying to lighten the atmosphere again.

Severus scoffed, looking off to the side before he huffed a sigh, “Very well.  I suppose it is a fair blessing that there are no music libraries in the vicinity at any rate.  The Adverts.”

Hermione had never heard of them, though she wasn’t surprised about that in the least.  Severus wouldn’t have chosen to tell her a band she could regularly identify, even if he had one that fit that description.  All in all it didn’t help her in the least to figure out what to get the man for Christmas.  Realizing she had looked away, she looked back at him.  He was looking at her with a strangely pleased expression.

“No, of course I don’t know them,” Hermione said in an exaggerated huff, making the smile finally crack across his face.  “Can you at least tell me what genre they would fall under?”

“I believe that would mean you would need to win again at your little game,” Severus said, the smile turning full smirk again as he rolled the coffee cup between his hands.

“I still find it hard to believe that you like the taste of Every Flavor Beans,” Hermione said with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t,” Severus said matter of factly, coming around and sitting down, evidently giving up escaping.  “However, I do like them.  The faces that certain of my classmates or colleagues would make when tricked into eating rotten egg or, a personal favorite of mine, dog shite, was absolutely priceless.”

Hermione didn’t manage to weasel much more information from him.  The only hint that he had given her was that he had found the band when he was around eighteen and that it was a Muggle group.  He didn’t admit to anything else.  Shockingly, they started talking about Tolkien and how his version of elves, though fantastic, was so different from all the actual races.  

It bled into epic comparisons, from Beowulf to Star Wars, which shocked her deeply.  It was very easy to forget that Severus had gone home every summer to a Muggle father in a Muggle house with Muggle neighbors.  He was well read in enough Muggle stories and movies that made conversing with him easy.  Almost every book that had entertained her over the summers he had read, or at least had a working knowledge to speak from.  It was amazing to her that she hadn’t thought to turn conversations this way before.  It was only when she was yawning protests against his assertions that C.S. Lewis had never had a truly original thought when she thought to look at the time.

“It’s three in the morning?” she asked incredulously, before turning back to him.

“Tempus fugit,” Severus said with a shrug, looking down at the mug he had been cradling that had been empty for hours.  He finally sat it on the side table near his chair.

“When you’re having fun,” Hermione said as she stood and stretched, completely missing the quick look that Severus shot her.  “Now, I will concede he had heavy influences, but that is all for tonight.  Because otherwise I will fall asleep in this chair and I’ll be an absolute fright in the morning.  Good night, Severus.”

As the bedroom door closed behind her, Severus whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear it himself, “Good night, Hermione.”

The thought of what to get Severus for Christmas plagued her without end.  It was going to be nearly impossible to go to Diagon Alley without Polyjuice and get him something from the wizarding world, and now that they had such a mutual appreciation for Muggle books and movies, she no longer wanted to.  

“You fit the archetype, though, to a ridiculous extent,” she argued, tossing him the tied bundle of dried rosemary for him to begin grinding.

“Things I would much rather not give any merit to,” Severus said, clearly uncomfortable and irritated.  “Whether I do or do not, I would rather hope that you wouldn’t trying to pigeonhole me there.  Byron had good ideas, good form, and some beautiful moments, but the man was far too ruled by vanity and emotions. Me a Byronic hero. Pah.”

Hermione laughed and dropped the subject.  As far as she was concerned, she had won that particular debate.  Seeing Severus Snape blush had been the best prize anyone could lay claim to in the world.  Especially since she still thought she was right.  Turning her gaze back to her cauldron, she smiled as she stirred.  Now she was certain on what she would getting him.

Days were passing more and more quickly.  Hermione had conspired with Daniel on suggestions for decoration on Christmas, as well as how to get her gift wrapped and in the castle without him knowing.  Everything he did was now making her so hyper conscious of him.  She knew it was ridiculous, but as worried as she was over her gift, she couldn't help but hope he would like it and envision what his face would look like when he unwrapped it.  Two weeks before Christmas things changed.

The day began normally.  Severus had coffee and toast, as well as a poached egg that Daniel bullied into him, and Hermione had her sausage and eggs with a half muffin, warmed just enough to melt a bit of butter.  They delved into their stock of medicinal brewing for the day so that the cabinet was now almost full and the next step of their plan would soon need to go into effect simply because they were running out of room.  Severus devoted all of his time to a Skele-Gro potion because it was complicated and sensitive and left Hermione to finish up and bottle two cauldrons full of Pepper-Up potion that had matured overnight.

They had been debating on the merits of Shakespeare’s poetry, firing off lines, with bits and pieces of plays thrown in, when they took a break for lunch.  When they walked through the doorway to their common room, Hermione stopped dead so quickly that Severus nearly ran into her.  Making her way cautiously into the room, Hermione looked around.  Evidently, Daniel had used their routine to assure that he wouldn’t be interrupted while he decorated.  He had by and large outdone himself.  

Their common room was transformed into something that would have been comfortable on the cover of Magical Housekeeping’s Christmas special.  There was now a large Christmas tree against the far wall, with full pine branches that she could smell from here.  As she drifted closer, she saw that the ornaments were all glass balls of varying sizes and some oblong shapes that were all in colors or gold, silver, red, and green.  Large flowers or white and gold decorated the great tree along a stream of silver and gold ribbon that was spiraled around the tree from the bottom to the top on which a star was perched.  

As Hermione rounded the back of Severus’s chair she realized that Daniel had even taken it upon himself to add furniture as there was now a loveseat with deep cushions set between the two chairs, facing the fire.  She couldn’t help smirking at Crookshanks curled on top of one of its pillows, purring loudly.  It would take Severus a lot of arguing for her cat to give up something he had laid claim to, or he would be faced with scratched shins and decor for the foreseeable future.  As she looked around, she made a note to warn him before he took it upon himself to banish it to the bin.

Each of their chairs now had a knitted afghan; hers was cheery Christmas red with gold stripes, his forest green with silver.  On the mantle were evergreen boughs, decorated with more balls and ribbon.  Two ornamental reindeer stood proudly on top, one silver and one gold.  The gold had red taper candles in its antlers, the silver had green.  Daniel had added wall sconces again to give more happy candlelight and each sported more evergreen.  

As Hermione finally came to the front of the great tree, she gently brushed her fingers over the prickly needles and grinned uncontrollably as  _ Oh Holy Night _ began to magically play as if someone was using delicate wind chimes to make the melody.  She couldn’t help it.  She knew that she had been grinning like a child since she had entered the room.  When she turned around to see Severus’s reaction to everything, it was practically with a skip.

His expression made her stop dead, the smile slowly melting from her face in a slow steady drain.  Severus was looking at her.  Hermione couldn’t tell if he had really taken in the room at all, all she knew was that he was looking at her.  Looking, with all the intensity that he normally reserved for concentrated brewing, or a difficult translation, or when writing something that was hard to describe.  His black eyes pierced her through, as if he was truly seeing all of her, even the parts she never wanted to show anyone.  Occasionally she had caught that look over the past month or so, but he had always quickly looked away.  He wasn't looking away now.

Hermione swallowed hard as she came to an insane revelation.  For the past week, they hadn’t fought.  Even their everyday conversations hadn’t grown heated to the lively debates that had so often left her slightly furious, but still better off for having lost an argument to someone with clearer understanding or insight.  She had to look away.  She couldn’t keep looking at his face, just taking her in like this, and yet she was as trapped as he seemed to be, neither moving, nor looking away.

Crookshanks decided to stand, stretch, and jump on top of the back of the couch, prowling to the corner and curling up again, letting Hermione break off her stare.  Heat flooded her face and she knew she was blushing furiously.  She also knew, just as surely, that she needed out.

“I...I...erm,” Hermione bit her lip,  “The decorations reminded me, I have to get something ready.  Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.  Eat without me.”

Beating a hasty retreat around him and back into her bedroom, Hermione closed the door behind her.  Looking down, she saw her hands were trembling.  She needed to get out of here.  Why was it so terrifying that she had had a happy week with Severus?  It hadn’t been completely happy, she had to admit.  She had the black cloud looming over her, and there had been that issue with her reading his book that he had taken brief offence to, but he had merely snatched it from her hands without even remembering to say anything too dreadfully nasty.

With shaky legs she lowered herself to the chair in front of her dressing table.  Oh it was so obvious.  When she had been living with Severus Snape, bat of the dungeons, pariah of the wizarding world, she hadn’t dreaded a single morning.  Waking up to knowing that each day had a productive element, an intellectually challenging element, and all mixed with someone who challenged her ability to read people, it was wonderful.  Her stomach turned over nauseatingly.  She enjoyed living with Severus Snape.  She thought of Ron and what he would think of that.  

Now thinking of living with Ron actually made her feel slightly ill.  The way he left things carelessly around her flat when he was allowed over, how he thought it was appropriate to use a book as a drink coaster, how he was continuously trying to draw her into conversation when she was at the best part of her book, it was all too much.  Her eyes began to tear up as she realized that now that her parents were safe, it also meant that there would be more awkward conversations where Ron would not be able to join in any of the numerous references to books or films or even basic electronics!  

Tears started their slow miserable trek down her face as she finally thought about returning to her life when this was over.  Hermione would be comparing her existence with Ron always to her existence now, with Severus.  Just thinking about it, she knew that Ron would fall desperately short.  It was almost cringeworthy as she thought about how she had always breathed a sigh of relief when Ron had left her flat and she had her own space reclaimed.  Here, her bedroom was in the way of Severus and his work and she barely felt that she was intrusive or being intruded upon.  

This was the first time she had ever actively considered that because of her decision to do this, that maybe her relationship with Ron wouldn’t last.  She wished that there was someone she could talk to.  Her parents knew what she had done, but they wouldn’t understand.  Her mother was still one of the most perceptive people she knew.  If she even began talking about it, she would know who was really responsible for her feelings changing.

Hermione spun her ring around her finger as she thought.  There was someone that she knew would always gave her good relationship advice and who knew Ron almost better than she did.  Biting her lip, she swiped at her eyes.  Chances are, she would have to Obliviate her at the end though.  She looked at her bedroom door and she felt her stomach twist again.  If she didn’t talk to someone soon, she would go mad.

“Daniel,” she whispered.

Two seconds later the house elf appeared before her with a smile.  The smile immediately disappeared as he took in her tear-streaked face.  Distraught, his eyes flicked back to the door behind him before back to her.  

“Is Miss Granger alright?” Daniel asked, his small fists clenched in his towel.

“Daniel, could you tell me if Ginerva Potter is at home?  Is she alone?” Hermione asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

The house elf disappeared immediately.  Hermione rested her forehead against her knees, concentrating on even, slow breaths.  She heard the ‘pop’ when Daniel returned and looked up slowly.

“Mrs. Potter is at home Miss Granger.  No one else is there,” Daniel said.  “Can Daniel help Miss?”

“I’m sorry to ask Daniel, but… could you take me there?  Please?” Hermione asked.  “I’d only need an hour or so, if that’s alright.  Outside the front door, not inside the house this time.”

Daniel had been looking frightened, but somehow by the end, he looked relieved and reassured.  Daniel extended his hand.  Hermione looked at it for a moment before she realized with a start that she was still wearing her engagement ring.  Taking it off, she quickly stashed it in a drawer of her dresser before she reached out and took Daniel’s hand.  The pair disappeared and reappeared in front of the Potter’s door.

Hermione knocked again on the door, praying that Ginny let her in soon.  It had been so impulsive for her to come here.  She didn’t regret it.  She would have to undoubtedly Obliviate her best girlfriend, but she knew Ginny well enough to know that if she survived to the end of this and reversed it, she would understand.  The youngest Weasley was powerful, stubborn, loyal, and proud, but she was also one of the most fiercely loving and compassionate people she knew.

Thinking that maybe she hadn’t heard, Hermione raised her hand to knock again when Ginny opened the door.  Hermione could see the shock on her face, but Ginny quickly controlled it into a smile that seemed almost natural.

“‘Mione!  I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you.  Isn’t it…” Ginny checked her watch, “Nevermind.  Come in, come in.”

Hermione fiddled with her wand that was still tucked in her sleeve as she followed her friend into her house.  Within minutes, she was sitting on a sofa with a blanket tucked around her legs and a cup of tea in her hands.  Watching her friend bustle around their small living room was so much fun.  

Ginny was wearing old jeans that had worn patches in the knees and had to be belted on her hips to keep them from falling off.  They looked two sizes too big with cuffs on the bottom, but she knew from having seen them over and over that they were her favorite pair to wear around the house.  Mismatched socks were on her feet, one was green with gold hawk’s feet and the other was black with silver broomsticks.  Her oversized Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt hung off one shoulder and she could see the red tank top underneath and she had it cuffed to her elbows showing off her well-muscled Chaser forearms.

“It’s funny,” Ginny said, curling into the corner of the sofa next to her, “I was going to actually go over to your flat tomorrow.  I missed you by a day.  I even bought a nice bottle of wine for the occasion.  And there’s cheesecake.  Do you feel up for either now?  Or should I wait and come over tomorrow anyway?”

Hermione winced, remembering how Ginny had come over a year ago and it immediately reminded her of the mindset that she should be having right now.  It was only two months after her parents had ‘died’.  No wonder Ginny was handling her with kid gloves while trying to pretend that she wasn’t.

“No, save it,” Hermione said, looking into her cup,  “I’m sure I’ll appreciate it tomorrow.”  

Silence stretched a bit as Hermione listened to the fire crackling slightly as the wood popped and resettled.  Now that she was here, she hardly had any idea what to say.  Yes, she was having problems with the idea of a future with Ron, but all of that was due to a brilliant, acerbic, mercurial Slytherin that she was currently with. The Hermione that Ginny knew had just lost her parents.  She wouldn’t have any clue as to what she would be saying if she talked about her current problems.

“Did my idiot brother do something?” Ginny asked finally in a joking voice, “Because you know I can pummel him for you with Mum’s blessing.”

Hermione laughed a bit wetly, shocked that the tears hadn’t been far enough away for her to keep them at bay for this.  Maybe that was as good a place to start as any.

“I don’t know, Gin,” Hermione said, trying not to look at her.  “Things have been happening and I just...I don’t know.  It’s making me question things.  About me, about us.  I’ve been putting the brakes on his moving in more than him now.  Honestly, I find myself wanting my own space every time he’s over.  It used to just be so  many little things that I thought we’d outgrow… together… and… I’m just so unsure about everything.”

Hermione risked a glance up at Ginny.  She looked worried, but also sympathetic.  She was also, blessedly, looking like she wasn’t judging her.  Considering Ron was her brother first, and she was her friend second, she wasn’t sure where that would have landed her in the ranking scale.

“I know you don't want to think about it Hermione, but you have just been through a tragedy,” Ginny said gently, but not in any way condescending, “It twists your perceptions of things.”

“I know,” Hermione said, knowing Ginny meant her parents, but she still found it true with her current health problem.  “I've been trying to distance myself from it by focusing on anything else, but every time I think about Ron and our future… I'm afraid.  I'm afraid that after everything we're not going to be good together.  I'm afraid that one day I'll just snap and he doesn't deserve that.”

Hermione looked up at Ginny.  Her friend looked hurt and worried, but, Hermione was both pleased and hurt to see, not terribly surprised.

“Have you thought that maybe what you need is a distraction?  Maybe something in addition to work?” Ginny asked finally.  “I know it might not be the solution to living with my brother, but it might help the stagnation you've been feeling.  I know that you two normally have problems when you don't have any difficult cases at work.  Maybe you just need something for your mind to be busy with.”

Hermione bit her lip and looked at the fire.  This had probably been Ginny's idea when she had sent her to Luna's father's speech.  She has never given her reasoning before.  She debated with herself before finally choosing what information to give and what to hold back.

“Actually, there is something I've been working on and off,” Hermione said, now absolutely sure that she was Obliviating her at the end.  “It was an obscure conference I went to once.  I spoke with the presenter afterwards.  I don’t expect you to know what a Time Rip is, it’s really just academic theory, but the presenter actually said that he witnessed one.”

Hermione looked at her cautiously.  It was evident that neither Luna nor her father had mentioned anything about Time Rips or their connection to her prior to his presentation in February.  Ginny looked interested, but detached slightly, and she knew her friend was only really politely feigning interest.  That was fine by her, she really just needed someone to talk to, even if she was only talking at her.

“And the thing is,” Hermione continued, “He said that I was the one that caused it, by going back in time and saving someone who was supposed to have died.”

“What?” Ginny yelped, fully attentive now and nearly sloshing her tea over the rim of her cup.

“That’s what I thought!” Hermione said, tucking her legs underneath her in excitement,  “So I’ve been trying to figure out when and who and how.”

“But there aren’t any Time Turners left!” Ginny said, “How were you supposed to do something like that?”

“He has one apparently, or knows how I’ll get it or something,” Hermione said, waving a free hand like it was of no consequence.  “But I’ve narrowed it down to the Battle of Hogwarts as the location, or sometime within that 48 hour period.”

Ginny had her hand clenching her mug so tightly her knuckles were white.  Hermione stopped, realizing what this undoubtedly would lead her to think until she watched Ginny deflate slightly.  

“Sorry,” Ginny said, shaking her head, brushing her braid back over her shoulder.  “Sorry, I forgot for a second.”

Ginny looked sadly off towards the fireplace, as she continued, “I forgot.  Fred’s a ghost.  He died.  I just thought… For a second anyway.  Sorry.”

Hermione’s heart clenched painfully, as she replied, “I’m sorry, Gin.”

“Not your fault,” Ginny said, wiping at her eyes, “With him tagging along with George all the time… I think sometimes he likes it too much, y’know?  Being able to stick his head or hand through walls, dinner plates, sinks, I think he has so much fun with it.  I forgot, laws of time travel, all that stuff.  He’s a ghost,  you couldn’t go back to save him.

Hermione smiled sadly, knowing that those had been her exact thoughts too, almost a year ago.

“Anyway, I've been trying to work the details, narrowing down who, and of course a safe place to hide for months in the past, not a very easy thing to do and,” she continued.

“Wait,” Ginny said, interrupting.  “Stop.  Why would you need to hide for months in the past?  Why wouldn't you just return to the day that you left after saving the person?”

“Ah, well,” Hermione said, fiddling with her cup, “You see it has to do with the laws of time travel.  All Time Turners are fixed so that you can't go further into your own future than approximately 24 hours.”

“I know that,” Ginny said, surprising Hermione.  Time laws weren't all that common knowledge.  “But you said that you would have to be living in the past for months.”

Hermione frowned at her friend's concern and said, “Well yes.  The only Time Turner that I could use goes back and forward years.  So if I miss that 24 hour window, which is very likely in all honesty, I was working on a contingency plan.”

“Hermione, if you're even slightly considering this crazy thing, you'd have to make it back then.  Don't even worry about contingency plans.  If you don't think you can make it back, don't go,” Ginny said, her face and voice very firm.

“Why?” Hermione asked, confused, “I understand all the rules.  As long as I don't affect events or let myself be seen.”

“Hermione,” Ginny interrupted, “You can't live concurrently in your own timeline for a year.  You'll die.”


	27. Portent of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, quick update! Columbina has the grace and swiftness of a saint. Also when I'm stressed out I write and as I have a new business to nurture via a business meeting tomorrow morning....

_ "Harry, what do you think you'd do if you saw yourself burst into Hagrid's house?” said Hermione. _

_ “I’d.. I’d think I’d gone mad,” said Harry.  “Or I’d think there was some dark magic going on.” _

_ “Exactly,” said Hermione.  “You wouldn’t understand.  You might even attack yourself.  Don’t you see?  Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time.  Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake.” ~ Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban _

 

“ _ Hermione,” Ginny interrupted, “You can't live concurrently in your own timeline for a year.  You'll die.” _

Hermione stared at her.  Her heart was starting to pound hard in her chest.  

“Why?” Hermione asked, proud that her voice was level, even though she was beginning to hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Ginny ran her hands through her hair, brushing the stray bits out of her face, her fingers getting stuck in her braid.

“I mean, I'm not surprised you don't know,” Ginny said, “It was only because Luna was going off on one of her tangents that she even told the story at all.”

Hermione's pulse kept thundering in her chest and throat as Ginny continued, “It has to do with her family, you know.  I know you never really got on with her, but her family is known for its crazy innovations and inventions.  Most didn't work, but on her mum's side, she's descended from the Davilius family. And they're most known for their working with--”

“Time Turners,” Hermione interrupted weakly.

Ginny looked at her, before laughing, “Of course you know.  Right, anyway.  So one of her family members was doing experiments with a potion.  I don't even remember what it was.  But it needed to age or something for twenty years.  And not only that, one of the steps had ingredients that needed to cure for ten years.”

Warming to the story and not noticing Hermione's growing panic, Ginny continued, “So this relative decided that he didn't want to wait for the fame that his potion would bring him, especially if he got something wrong and has to start over.  He took a Time Turner and then decided that he would make a pact with himself.  He would work with himself so that he could reap the rewards early.  So he started the potion and set the day in his calendar.  The next day his future selves from ten years and twenty years met him on that day.  The one from twenty years in the future brought the completed potion and the one from ten years in the future brought the treated ingredient.  And so a thirty year old gained the popularity and fame of a fifty year old and was able to reap the rewards.”

“I’m not seeing the problem yet,” Hermione said, calming down a bit as Ginny told her story.

“Right, sorry, getting to it,” Ginny said.  “So both futures selves stayed, because the youngest would have to actually have to know all of the specifics of the potion brewing process and the recipe, and how best to sell it, on and on.  The problem grew apparently because the future selves got tired.  The oldest disappeared, and the two younger of him simply thought that he went back to the future and didn't think about it after a few weeks.  Then, the middle decided that the youngest had all of the information and went back.”

Hermione’s heart had started hammering somewhere around the oldest disappearing and now it was taking all of her effort not to begin to hyperventilate.  Ginny was oblivious to her distress however and was studying various spots in the ceiling as she tried to remember the details.  She looked back at Hermione.

“And see, Hermione,” Ginny said finally.  “Luna told me that this was actually one of the reasons behind some of the future Time Turner laws.  The meaning got lost eventually, and transcended because there were quite an awful lot of witches and wizards trying to meddle with their own pasts and futures and accidentally killing themselves with magic, but also, just by trying to  _ exist  _ parallel to themselves would eventually do the trick.”

“But I wouldn’t be trying to contact my past self,” Hermione protested.

“It wouldn’t matter.  It’s about Time itself,” Ginny said, laughing slightly as she remembered.  “I won’t give you all the things Luna said about it, because you wouldn’t believe them, but she did have the explanation for her ancestral uncle.  No one saw him again.  The oldest future self, the one that brought the completed potion back?  He was never seen again.  He just disappeared.  

“Luna said, essentially,” Ginny chuckled a bit and was doubtlessly paraphrasing.  “That it was Time correcting itself, trying to absorb the version of him that didn’t belong at that point in time.”

“How,” Hermione said in a high-pitched voice, before she coughed vigorously to clear her throat, “How long?”

“Beg pardon?” Ginny asked, confused.  

“How long was he living with himself?” Hermione asked.

“Oh!” Ginny said, before thinking, “I think the oldest was there three months.  The middle left just before six.  It’s only easy to remember because of all the threes and tens in the story.  What’s wrong?”

When Hermione returned to her rooms, barely an hour later, she dashed into the bathroom and locked the door.  She had made it through Obliviating Ginny, vanishing teacups, sorting the place to how it had been, calling Daniel, and transporting back to Hogwarts.  Now, she let the horror and the all consuming panic take her in waves.

Hermione barely made it to the toilet before she was sick.  Dry heaves racked her body for minutes after the small amount of her stomach contents of the past hours expelled themselves.  She was past even the point of crying.  And to think, hours and days before, she had had hope still.  She had been worrying about what her relationship with Ron would be like when she got back.  She had been worrying about what to get Severus for a Christmas gift.  She had been considering….  it hadn't mattered what she had been considering doing when she got back.  She wasn't getting back.

Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled up in her chest as she rested her forehead on the cool porcelain.  Now at least she knew.  She knew what was trying to kill her.  She figured it out.  She was in a battle with Time itself.

Making herself stand up, Hermione walked to the sink and rinsed her mouth.  There was one clamoring thought that was beating itself around her brain.  She ignored it as she brushed her teeth.  Luna could always be wrong, she tried to think.  Something about the information felt right.  She could check the theory with Arithmancy.  And now that she knew what to look for, she could probably even find the reference in a book.

Then the thought rose up so fast, she couldn't beat it down fast enough.  She had given up her life for Severus Snape.  The thought clamored loudly in her head, but somehow seemed incomplete.  Hermione looked at herself in the mirror.  She looked haunted, shadows under her eyes, pale face, slightly bloodshot eyes, looking almost like she had been crying.  She hadn't just given up one future to save him.  Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sink.  She had given all of her futures.  Countless Hermiones who had been needed to rip time and bring him forward years into the future. 

Looking into her panicked expression, Hermione clicked a piece of the puzzle into place.  That explained it.  She had taken for granted that Severus could come forward with her into the future.  In reality, it shouldn’t have been possible.  It made sense then.  All of the magic from all of those countless future Hermiones had to be used to pull Severus forward along his own timeline which shouldn’t have been possible.  And because of the damn Time Turner that had broken, which she wouldn’t have been able to use anyway, she was stuck.  She couldn’t cheat it.  She slammed an open palm down onto the marble top next to the sink.

A vain thought wormed its way into her brain that she could find another Time Turner.  But how likely would that be?  Hermione remembered how astonished she had been when Xenophilius had said that he had had one.  Hermione looked back up at her reflection.  She still looked pale and stricken, but she could carry on.  

Walking to the bathroom door, she paused, her hand hot against the cool metal handle.  It had been so easy, in her panic, to forget the reason she had fled.  The look that Severus had held in his eyes, the absolute and full concentration that had been brought to bear, solely on her, had been… Unnerving.  Terrifying.  Closing her eyes, Hermione shuddered.  It had been more powerful than anything.  In that moment it had been so hard to convince herself that her feelings for him were one-sided.  Shaking herself, she opened the door.

Her bedroom was blissfully empty, but that didn't surprise her.  Daniel had been decorating here too, with garland wrapped around the posts of her bed, on the mantle of her fireplace, and a smaller tree to the left of the fireplace.  That made her smile slightly, even through her shock, as she looked at her bed and the wrapped gift underneath.  Giving herself a little shake, Hermione walked through her room and entered the common room.

Severus had been busy.  That was her first thought when Hermione walked in.  The blackboard had been conjured up from the potions lab and set up in front of the door leading out to the dungeons.  Papers floated like confetti decorations around it.  For a moment, Hermione couldn’t understand why, but as she looked, she realized that there wasn’t a surface untouched by decorations for him to put them.

“Have you completed your mysterious errand?” Severus practically snarled at her.

_ Fantastic _ , Hermione thought.   _ I leave for little more than an hour, find out I won’t survive this little venture, and to top it off, Severus is full bear mode. _

“Yes,” Hermione said finally, walking over to look at the floating papers.  “I just n-”

“Well, while you were off,” Severus waved his hand irritably in her bedroom’s direction.  “Us with more pressing matters were making progress.”

Even though she still had the knowledge of what was happening to her and why, Hermione felt a surge of hope that maybe Severus had found something that would be useful.  As she neared, Severus angrily snatched three of the seven floating papers out of the air and tucking them under his arm.  He gestured and she watched the board clear and then a line appear across it with a chart.

“I made a visit to Poppy,” Severus said, making Hermione gape at him, but he wasn’t really paying attention.  “Covertly, obviously.  I do hope that didn’t inconvenience your  _ schedule of events _ .”

Hermione frowned at him, crossing her arms over her chest.  It was amazing that this was the same man that had caused her to flee, filled with insecurities and bubbling inappropriate responses, that was now positively radiating with anger, seemingly directed at her.  

“Even with the 1% drain, you are higher in your magical stores today than you were at the tender age of eighteen,” Severus stated, crossing his arms as he turned to face her.  “Care to explain?”

“Nineteen,” Hermione said absentmindedly as she looked over the results that he had written onto the board.  “Well, twenty really if you count actually days lived.”

Hermione completely missed the snarl that Severus sent her.  She tried to reconcile the information in front of her with the new knowledge that she had acquired from Ginny.  Somehow, amidst the numbers and figures on the blackboard, she had been able to erect a wall between her emotions and the facts, allowing her to think clearly.  

If what Ginny had said was true, then some unknown force was trying to drain her magic to shove it into her past self.  So technically, the Hermione that was currently living in her flat would have been getting whatever had been successfully drawn out of her.  Her heart.  She started rubbing circles on her chest without thinking about it.   _ That made sense _ .

“What?” Severus barked.

Hermione blinked, looking up at him.  She hadn’t realized that she had said that last bit out loud.  She thought quickly.  If there was one thing she didn’t want to do, it was to tell him about the ticking time bomb that had become her life.

“I was just remembering,” Hermione said.  “I can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before, but it’s been almost a year.  I had chest pains.  Before I came back for you, I had chest pains.  It was like my heart was racing.  They would come in bursts and disappear.”

Hermione didn’t risk looking at him just yet.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he would react to the fact that she had withheld information, even if it was only by accident.  

“I was thinking about our list of causes, and how one of them might have been something related to the time travel,” Hermione said.  “That maybe if somehow being here at the same time was draining my magic, maybe it was going to the other me.  And that’s what reminded me of the problem I was having last year.”

“Is it procedure for you to just ignore personal medical problems until they go away or kill you?”  Severus snapped at her.

Hermione bristled under the censure as she snapped back  “You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Severus?”

Shockingly, Severus drew back from her with an acknowledging nod.  “Touche,” he replied.

“Moving on, though, with that as a working theory, we'll have to take regular readings now won't we?” Hermione said.  “To tell if my magic attempts to go back up to its previous level or if it stays here.”

“And with your realization now, we may be able to pinpoint future attacks,” Severus said thoughtfully, the anger that had dominated him now faded away he continued to analyze the numbers.  “Can you think of a time where you experienced symptoms in December or January?”

“It was last year,” Hermione said looking at the calendar posted over by the wall.  It was one of the few things that Daniel had let stay, though he had added bits of holly leaves and berries to the corners.  Looking over the dates, she swallowed hard, her stomach dropped.  She could tell him a date.

“December 20,” Hermione said shakily as she realised what that meant.

“In three days,” Severus said sharply.  “That seems rather sudden.  How can you be sure?”

Hermione's face, she was sure, looked minorly shell-shocked.  Terror creeped up in her gut and into her throat.  Three days.  She didn't want to go through an attack again.  It had been terrifying before, now, knowing how inevitable it was that it would grow worse.  Her heart was pounding and her vision was tunneling until the calendar was all she could see.

“..rmione!” A voice broke through finally as a hand gripped her right upper arm and gave her a little shake.

Hermione looked up at him, her face white with panic.  Severus had a face of fearful concern.  She could almost feel it, even though his brows were drawn down in anger.

“Merlin, girl,” Severus said, abruptly releasing her.  “I thought you were having a fit or something.  I asked you a question, Granger, and I expect you to answer it.”

“I…” Hermione started, blinking dumbly for a minute before shaking herself out of it.  “I had thought.  Well I don't know what I thought, I'm normally not the type you see.  I never...I never  _ faint. _  But on that day I did.  It was just a… it was a memorable occasion.”

Her right hand had come to her left ring finger instinctively and she startled and looked down.  Her ring was gone.  She experienced a moment of panic for a split second before she calmed herself, remembering.  She had taken it off to go and visit with Ginny.  

“I will take you at your word then,” Severus said with a level of malevolence and revulsion suggesting that he would rather not know anything more.

“So three days,” Severus said.  “It certainly gives us time to prepare.  Blessedly free of any more of your walk abouts I hope.  I believe it's one that you concentrate your efforts of more worthwhile endeavors, wouldn't you agree?”

Hermione was suddenly filled with such a desire to lash out at him that it was almost unreasonable.  Her emotions couldn't take the ups and downs anymore.  She was as on edge as she had ever been and whatever had him acting like a terror, she was done with.

“It was important,” she said with narrowed eyes.  “So I'll have you stop giving me grief about it, thank you ever so much.”

“So much more important that you neglected the miniscule problem of saving your life,” Severus sneered.

“I didn't say that it was more important,” Hermione said with narrowed eyes, her mind racing with a way to lash out and hurt him.  “I just said it was important.”

“Astonish me, Hermione.  What was so damned important?” Severus bit out.

“If you must know,” Hermione said, finding the perfect phrasing so that she didn't actually lie,  “I now have a Christmas present.  For you.”

Severus reacted just as she had expected him to: he recoiled almost as if she had struck him.  In fact, he probably would have been less surprised if she had.  Hermione turned away, crossing her arms over her chest in triumph, not needing to see his reaction anymore.  

It had been a finely calculated move.  She knew enough about the man by now to know that he never expected a kindness.  Any kindnesses were treated with suspicion.  The best way to shock him was doing something nice.  

“Why the bloody buggering hell would you do a damned thing like that for?” Severus said in a slightly breathy voice.

“Typically,” Hermione said, turning around and finding him still reeling emotionally.  “One gives presents on Christmas to someone one considers a friend.  And whether or not you are aware of it, I do consider you to be a friend now, whether you like it or not.”

Leaving him still trying to process this, Hermione went to the bookshelf and wrote out her requests for books on the notebook.  She wanted to get her hands on anything that could possibly reference her impending demise before he read about it.  For some reason, she doubted he would react very well.

Eventually, Severus recovered from his shock, but Hermione did notice an unnaturally high amount of chalk breaking noises coming from his side of the blackboard.  They occasionally threw theories back and forth as to how to keep her present and fighting during the next episode, all of which kept spurring on high doses of anxiety for Hermione.  She fought them off considerably well, especially after a bundle of fur decided it was his job to stay purring in her lap to calm her down, but it was still difficult.

The hours ticked away and they ate dinner in relative silence, each with their thoughts preoccupied by their own musings.  When Hermione rose, however, and made to go back to her bedroom, Severus called her back.

“Hermione,” he said, standing as well.  “Wait a moment.”

As Severus rounded the table and drew nearer, Hermione felt her heart speed up unnaturally.  He bypassed her completely and made for his room, leaving her gaping slightly.  When he returned, sweeping his robes out of the way as he closed the door behind him, he stalked over to her before stopping just two feet apart and extending a vial.

Hermione reached out, taking it from him. As soon as he was certain she had a secure hold, his hand dropped quickly to the side and he looked away.  She got the distinct impression from the way he had only held the cork that he was trying to deliberately not touch her.

“Dreamless Sleep,” Severus said.  “Two doses.  I cannot imagine you sleeping well without it so I recommend you take the full dose.  You will need all the strength you can muster.”

His voice sounded funny, Hermione thought, looking at him, but for the world she couldn't identify the reason.  As she watched him turn away, she gripped the small bottle tightly to her chest.  She would definitely need it.  Whispering her thanks to an empty room, she went into her own.

Scrubbing at her exhausted and dry eyes with the heels on her hands, Hermione walked to her dresser, setting the vial down on top.  Realizing she still hadn't put her engagement ring back on, she opened the first drawer where she had placed it before heading off with Daniel.

It was empty.  Hermione felt her stomach drop to the floor and her face felt numb.  Frantic, she dropped into the chair, pulled the drawer out all the way, feeling around the back corners desperately.

“Daniel!” Hermione screamed in panic, still feeling around the drawer.

“Miss Granger is wanting--” Daniel stopped with a squeak, looking at her terrified face.  “What is wrong, Miss?”

“My ring!  Oh, Daniel, my ring was in this drawer when you left,” she began, her voice high pitched and terrified.  “Did you move it?  Have you seen it?”

“Miss Granger has lost it?” Daniel asked, his voice going high as well, his large round eyes looking ever more frantic as he looked between the drawer and her face.

“I didn't,” she said, looking back at the drawer, the ducking her head underneath it to look.  “I know it was in here!”

“Oh…” Daniel backed away from her slowly, his hands grabbing the tips of his large ears and pulling on them.  “Oh Daniel is a bad elf.  A very bad elf.  Oh, Miss Granger.  There are drawers Miss, wizards call the Disappearing Drawers.  Oh, they are terrible, Miss!  Things disappear in them, Miss!”

Hermione's hands were trembling when she asked in a whisper, “What are you saying?”

“Daniel did not think,” he looked at the drawer in horror and gave his ears two hard yanks.  “Oh Daniel is a bad elf.  Daniel wondered why the elves hadn't used this.  Daniel thought Daniel was lucky.  And now Miss Granger no longer has her ring!”

With a cry, the elf ran to the wall and began banging his head on it.  Hermione cried out, jumped up and hauled him back by his tiny shoulders.

“Oh Miss Granger!” Daniel howled, changing tactics and grabbing and yanking his ears in violent tugs.  “Daniel is a bad elf! It is all Daniel's fault.’

“No,” Hermione said, trying to get the poor elf to calm down.  “Daniel, please stop.  It isn't your fault.  Please, can you tell me how to fix it?”

Daniel howled out a sob, “Daniel is a bad elf Miss!  Wizards use them to play tricks on Muggles, Miss.  Daniel never, ever, ever thought there would be a Disappearing Drawer in Hogwarts.”

“But how do they work?” Hermione asked, stopping her futile attempt at blocking the elf’s violent jerks on his poor ears which were now turning quite red.  “Surely there has to be a counter jinx.”

“Daniel is sure there is Miss, but Daniel does not kn-know it,” the elf gasped as he started to sob.  “Sometimes items return, sometimes they do not.  It is a cruel, cruel trick.  And Daniel… oh, Daniel is such a bad elf.  Daniel will iron his fingers for upsetting Miss.  Daniel will slam his feet in the kitchen doors.”

“No!” Hermione cried, “Daniel it was a mistake.  Everyone makes mistakes.  Please don’t punish yourself.”

Even while saying it, she knew it was futile.  She had worked with enough house elves by now to see the signs.  But her panic at trying to help Daniel restrain himself from causing himself permanent harm was temporarily overriding her panic at losing her engagement ring.

“You said things sometimes come back, right?” Hermione said, trying to be louder than the litany of punishments that Daniel was listing for himself.  “So it's not terrible yet.”

“And Miss is so  _ nice _ to Daniel and the Headmaster.  And no she is without her precious ring! Such a bad elf Daniel is, upsetting Miss,” Daniel whimpered.  “And the  _ Headmaster _ likes Miss so much, oh what will Daniel do.  Daniel will throw himself down the tower steps. Yes.”

“Daniel!” Hermione barked out, channeling Molly Weasley's most commanding tone.  “Stop and listen to me this instant.”

The elf stopped, momentarily struck dumb, even his hands that had been twisting his forearms dropped to the side.  He looked at her with such guilty and wet eyes that her heart once again broke for all house elves.

“As it was my ring, I will choose the punishment,” she said firmly and she hated how relieved Daniel looked.  Looking around for something suitable, she pointed to one of the large, yet still light, books that she kept on her nightstand.  “I would like you to hit your head ten times with that book, but be careful not to do it too hard or you will damage the cover.  And after you're finished, you must search the castle for any other Disappearing Drawers and make sure they are replaced with normal ones.”

The elf complied relatively happily as he whacked his head with her book, though Hermione thought he still looked guilty as he vanished to finish his punishment.  The silence descended immediately afterwards and was deafening.  Looking at the small vial of Dreamless Sleep, she stood and got ready for bed.  

As she drew the covers over herself, Hermione rolled the tiny vial between her palms.  Stopping, she realized that that habit wasn't hers.  She could picture his hands doing it countless times over countless evenings, coffee mugs and wands and stirring rods or pieces of chalk.  Shockingly, this small thing brought tears to her eyes and she closed them to hold them back.  Her only connection, her only real reminder of Ron, was gone.  It had nearly been eight months since she had seen him and rather than mourn the loss, she had filled it with something… 

Hermione let two tears roll down the sides of her face.  She wasn't sure why she was crying.  Was it because of the intimacy that she had slipped into with easily the most caustic and mercurial man she had ever known?  Or because she was mourning the loss of a childhood sweetheart before they even parted ways?  Would she have ever considered either had she not done this?  Would it be bothering her as much if she wasn't facing death and battling time itself?  She wasn't sure. 

Uncorking the bottle, she carefully swallowed half.  Putting the stopper back in, Hermione placed it on her nightstand.  As she tucked under the covers, several thoughts continued to rise as the potion lulled her to sleep.  One, that if she died, she had no need to worry over a lost ring.  Two, that Daniel obviously thought that Severus thought a great deal of her, despite recurring evidence to the contrary. And three, that offering her Dreamless Sleep was yet another confusing moment that revealed that Severus Snape could be considerate, even sweet, to another human being.


	28. Mental Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly apologize for the delay!! Hopefully the chapter after this will be timed for a Christmas gift for all of you wonderful readers!

_ “It is a fitting punishment for a monster.  To want something so much-to hold it in your arms-and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.” ~ Renee Ahdieh _

 

Severus hadn't slept.  That, in itself, was nothing abnormal.  The reason for his insomnia this particular night was new, though.  He paced the length of his bedroom, back and forth, his hands clenching and unclenching, as he thought.  

For the first thirty minutes, he had been practically unintelligible.  He had had to put up a significant front for the past few hours, but as soon as he had the solitude of his own space, his mind had practically whited out.  She had bought him a Christmas gift.  He still could not fathom  _ why _ .

Severus could count on his fingers the number of Christmas gifts that he had received in his lifetime.  Actual, true gifts.  He couldn't remember his parents giving him gifts for Christmas.  Lily had given him one for their first year at Hogwarts, but it had caught him by surprise and he hadn't had a gift for her.  It had been dreadfully awkward when she had returned after her vacation, but she hadn't seemed bothered by it at all. After he had grown up a bit, he had had suspicions that her parents had probably blamed his lack of money and that had been the source of her very understanding manner.  Either way, it had been his last gift from her.

When he had begun teaching, Severus had been almost universally despised.  Minerva had still been prejudiced against anyone that wasn’t one of her precious cats, Dumbledore had thought him a hated, but necessary, evil.  Everyone else had been indifferent, certainly none partial enough to consider gifting him anything.  Eventually, Dumbledore had taken to giving him outrageous candies every Christmas, to “sweeten him up,” which he thought was a fine joke.  They had all been thrown into the fire.

But now. This was entirely different.  Hermione was different.  She wouldn’t give him a gift as a joke, or to manipulate him, or humiliate him.  She had even managed to give him warning in enough time that he could reciprocate.  Racking his brain was not helping.  Severus dragged terrified and frustrated hands through his lank hair.  While he couldn’t understand the reasons behind her decision to give him a gift, the fact was that she had gotten him one.

Around 1 am, Severus had found a passable idea.  Committing to it had nearly led him to a panic attack.  Grateful for Hermione’s normal sleeping habits, Severus let himself into the bathroom, making sure both entrances locked after he closed the door.  Slowly, he let himself look at his least favorite aspect of the bathroom: the mirror.

Severus had never been a fan of deluding himself.  He was not an attractive man.  Nose too large and hooked as a terrible reminder of who his father had been.  Black eyes and lifeless black hair inherited from his mother.  Sallow skin always with such unhealthy tones.  Frowning, he looked closer.  

Severus hadn’t truly looked in a mirror for a long time, but unless he was very mistaken, the unhealthy, yellowish tinge that his pale skin had always carried was gone.  Carding his fingers through his hair, he was shocked to find the perpetual grease that would always be present by end of day was not as prevalent as it normally was.  If he had had to pick one thing out of any to change about his appearance it would have been that.  

Perhaps it had been the slight insanity that came with being conscious for nearly 24 hours, but Severus was struck with yet another thought.  Stripping off his frock coat and letting it fall to the floor, he began unbuttoning his shirt, very consciously looking away from the reflective surface in front of him.  Stripping off the black neck tie and letting it be followed by the shirt to the floor, he took a deep, steadying breath.  Bracing his hands on the countertop before him, he looked up.  

He was still thin; Severus had never doubted that this would have changed.  He collarbones still stuck out sharply, but it was no longer possible for him to count his ribs through his chest as he had been able to last year.  Again, here he was pale, but there was no longer unhealthy bruises, healing or fresh.  There was no yellow tinge anywhere, no purple or red edging to the scars.  Gently running fingers over bits of skin, he saw that there were no more dry patches or skin that had been raw and unhealthy.  His hipbones could have used more meat around them, but he no longer had to tailor his trousers down or belt them as tightly to keep them from falling off his hips.

Severus looked back up at his own face.  He was not attractive, no, but he was no longer unhealthy.  He had no other lens to look at himself, but if this mad plan that he was going to attempt would be worth even a grain of salt, he would need something, anything, more.  Looking down at his discarded clothes, he sneered.  They had been part of it too.  Further proof that he was alone.  The same armor, always, to brave the world that hated him.  

But not everyone in the world hated him.  Severus closed his eyes, leaning into the sink as the truth of that revelation washed over him.  It was enough.  He would be greedy, idiotic, selfish, to want for more.  But he did.  He did want more.  He had never hated himself more than at this moment, because he knew to try would be willingly inviting disaster.  His mind conjured another memory of her this afternoon, gesturing with her left hand, free of that pathetic bit of stone and metal.  He was reading too much into its absence, he was aware of that, but it did nothing to quell his hope.

Grabbing his clothes, he nearly put them on again.  He wouldn’t sleep again tonight, though, not with all of this running through his head.  Tossing them back on the ground, the rest of his clothes followed as he turned on the shower.  As the water beat against his back, he once again went over his plan in his head.

There was no way he would be able to buy her a gift at this late point.  He had no Polyjuice Potion stored, and, whether he liked it or not, if he shopped for anything in the wizarding community he would be recognized.  His mind rejected all the other alternatives, glamours, spells, or disillusionments that might allow him freedom of movement.  He had a plan.  He would get it from his own home.

Everyone undoubtedly got Hermione Granger books.  That was his only worry.  But he had seen the rapture that she fell into when between the pages of a book she truly enjoyed.  He knew the care that she used when handling books not her own, the gentleness when turning pages, the effort not to further crease the spine.  No, there was no doubt that she would appreciate a book.

Through all of their discussions, they had covered enough Muggle literature that he knew which she had never tried, and yet which she would like.  She had not ventured very far into wizarding fiction and he was certain she had not yet found  _ Cirrosen _ .  As Severus let the water flow over his hair as he scrubbed at his scalp, he tried to remember the entirety of the story and found himself lacking.  If he succeeded, he believed that he would be able to give her a true acknowledgment of his feelings, whilst still giving her a polite way out, should she so choose.  Which she would.

By 3 am, Severus was sitting on his bed, dressed in an old grey nightshirt with a dressing gown belted tightly over it.  Sleep still eluded him, so he made himself work.  There had to be some formula or way of deducing her attacks.  His quill kept lagging though, as he continued to think about his mother’s old book.   _ Cirrosen _ had been his first real glance into the wizarding world.  It had been one of the few books Tobias hadn’t felt threatening enough to ban, throw, or burn.  Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose.  If his thoughts kept going in this direction, no matter how he tried, he might as well try for sleep.  In another hour or so he managed it, but since he hadn’t taken a potion and hadn’t mastered his mind before sleep,  he spent the rest of the night fitful and caught in nightmares of running from demons, or running after voices that he knew were being tortured, always too far away for him to help.

The next morning, Hermione slept in.  She hadn’t wanted to quit the warmth of her covers.  Only the nakedness of her left ring finger eventually motivated her enough to dress.  A quick check with the house elf revealed that he couldn’t yet bring her her ring, which of course led him to attempt to punish himself.  When she had finally entered the common room, she wasn’t surprised to see Severus at his desk, once again considering the blackboard in front of him.

“Any new revelations come to you overnight?” she asked.

Severus startled slightly, looking at her and frowning.  Evidently seeing nothing that he could have cause to complain about, he turned back to the board.  Almost as if he second guessed himself, he looked back at her hands which were now busy at her breakfast, and then back and away.

“Nothing groundbreaking as of yet,” Severus said, standing and stretching with his arms over his head.

Hermione was shocked. It was such a casual move for anyone to make but for him, who she had never thought he would be comfortable enough to act, well, comfortable, it seemed almost vulnerable.  There were shadows under his eyes again, though.  With a sigh, she turned back to her toast and took a bite.  She shouldn't be worrying about whether or not he was sleeping, she had her own set of problems. As she chewed, she glanced over at the calendar and nearly choked.

The days ticking down were a clear reminder of the inevitable.  Two days.  Realizing that she felt her vision tunneling again, Hermione ducked her head and focused on her food, trying to swallow around the nerves rising in her throat.

“As loathe as I am to admit it,” Severus said, making Hermione look up to see him staring very determinedly at the board and gripping a piece of chalk so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't yet broken, “I believe that the mental connection we had experimented with may be of use.”

Hermione's eyes widened.  They had spoken about using or creating magical anchors and of certain potions that might bolster her to help her stay conscious, but this was the first time that she was hearing this.  It was an avenue that she had considered, but dismissed as easily.  She hadn't thought Severus would entertain the notion for a second.

“You'll forgive me, I simply need to ask advice, anonymously if possible,” Severus said, his voice strained with something that Hermione couldn't identify.

“How?” Hermione asked, her shock beating back the terror of what awaited her in two days.  She cleared her throat.  “Advice from whom?”

“I would dare to say that your nerves have had enough shocks, wouldn't you say?” Severus said rather nastily.  “Wouldn't do to get your hopes raised only to be dashed.  Besides, if you can make errands secretly for something as trivial as a Christmas gift without me stopping to question your every move, I would hope you would do me the same courtesy.  Do stay here for an hour, if you please.”

Breezing past her in a rush of robes, Severus entered her bedroom.  At least he hadn't closed the door behind him, she thought, so it was easy to hear the rush of magical flames and the flash of green that indicated he had used the Floo.  Unfortunately, it hadn't been enough for her to hear where he had gone to.  Shrugging, she went to make more book requests, very purposefully not looking at the calendar on the wall as she passed it.

When Severus returned, he gave her no indication of where he had been, though he carried a large burden in his arms past her and into his bedroom.  Hermione didn't even presume to guess, though her curiosity ate at her fiercely.  There was a small part that wondered if any part of it had been a gift for her, or if she was simply insane to hope for it.  She wasn't sure if she was more excited for a gift or the prospect of a cure, which seemed to be a clear indication that her mind and logic were also suffering from her condition.

Severus seemed more anxious the longer the day continued, to the point that Hermione started wondering whether or not she should ask him if he was alright.  When dinner arrived, with a roll of parchment lying across his plate, Severus practically jumped out of his robes to get to it, snatching it in one smooth movement and slamming his bedroom door shut behind him.  

The next morning followed the same, rather strange behavior from Severus, though all of the work had been moved back down to the potions lab.  Nervous twitches between the blackboard and parchment pieces that he had strewn about various surfaces, nearly every object that came to his hands was rolled between his palms, and, the strangest of the new behaviours in Hermione's mind, was his tucking his hair behind his ears.  Most times he would alternate between shaking the strands free back into his face and absentmindedly tucking them back again as he scribbled notes on a parchment on a table.  Hermione was absolutely positive in those moments that he had forgotten she was still present in the room.

For Hermione's part, she continued studying the books that she had checked out from London and Dublin.  The Davilius family had, shockingly, not written anything autobiographical and so she was doomed to second and third party sources.  The incident that Luna had told Ginny about had seemed to be only deemed worthy of a footnote in a greater book of  _ Strange and Wyrd Travelers _ , where they spoke about a story that was too similar to be a coincidence concerning a potion called Dreamer's Clarity.  Nothing seemed to mention what happened to someone staying in the same timeline with themselves for long periods of time.  Which, Hermione thought irritably to herself, was probably because no one had done any studies on it.  Before the Time Turners had been destroyed, there had been regulations, and before the regulations, there hadn't been a lack of time turning devices, so with one egocentrically minded wizard exception, there was nothing for her to study.  And no one had probably felt the need or desire to do such a study for its own sake.

By the time Saturday morning had dawned, Hermione was wrecked.  The only reason she was even able to make it to breakfast dressed and mostly in one piece had been due to the last of the Dreamless Sleep that she had used the night before.  It was useless to dispel the nerves that were causing her heart to spur her to panic and her stomach to knot so hard it was impossible to eat.

“Though it happening is inevitable, it does not mean that the outcome will necessarily be worse than the last,” Severus said quietly.

Hermione looked up from her plate of eggs to see him regarding her over his coffee mug.  He had finished eating without her taking any notice and had seated himself in his chair by the fire.  There was a depth and warmth in his black eyes that pierced her through and made her have to look away.  Whatever nervousness had been plaguing him the past few days had failed to make an appearance this morning and for that she was grateful.  She would have difficulty managing her own fear about the day without adding his own.

“I believe I may be able to help anchor your magic to the present,” he continued, still in a carefully low monotone.  When she looked back at him, he was watching the fire.  “If it is successful, I believe we will be able to hone this strategy in order to lessen the effects of each attack.  A human anchor will be better than any or all of our scheming, I am now sure.”

Hermione set her fork down and abandoned her attempts at eating as she asked, “How?”

When she saw him grimace, Hermione thought she had at least the first half of the answer.  Something to do with her is his head or him in hers then.  Her stomach churned, but she met his gaze evenly when he looked back at her.

“You remember when we were discussing the types of magical bonds that used to be used before, between covens, siblings, teachers and pupils,” Severus began.

“And spouses or lovers,” Hermione felt compelled to add, watching him look away in discomfort.  She tried not to smile too widely, but it was impossible not to notice when he blushed, even in dim light.  He was too pale.

“Regardless of why,” he continued, not acknowledging her addition, though for some reason his fighting discomfort made her feel a bit better.  “They were originally formed for the same purpose.  One would pose as a magical anchor while the other would experiment.  Regardless of what our books would have us believe, most would have to go back to scrolls to find the truth of the time of experimental wordless and wandless magics.  Most witches and wizards would simply accept the testament that wands and spells were always a constant.  That the ability to learn the spells in books was always so.  That there was never a time before spells.  That there was never a danger to our ancestors using magic they were born to.”

“Minerva spoke to me about it once,” Hermione said.  “I always wondered why more students never asked.  She said that without spells, a witch could cast a spell bright enough to blind when only trying to light a candle.  She also said that without the boundaries inherent in known spells, a witch could actually drain her magic completely.”

“A rare case, but it is essentially this that I am basing my hypothesis on,” Severus said, looking down and now rolling his coffee mug thoughtfully between his hands in his lap.  “As there is already a magical bond, we should hopefully be able to anchor your magic to mine to convince it to stay present.  As it is your own body attempting to draw your own magic, it should not be able to draw me through you.  Hopefully this should be enough to keep you conscious and fighting to stay present this point in time.”

“How?” Hermione asked again.

“Do you remember the approximate time of the attack coming today?” Severus asked abruptly, standing and walking to his desk in the corner.

Again, Hermione felt a pang as she looked down at her ring finger, still missing its ring.  She hadn't asked Daniel about it this morning.  She had actually forgotten it was missing until this moment.  The fact that she had a perfectly good excuse not to think about it did little to ease her conscience.

“After dinner,” Hermione said finally, smiling sadly as she remembered Ron's proposal.  “I think it was around seven or eight in the evening.”

“So we have time then,” Severus said, waving a hand across his desk and banishing what looked like three charmed Christmas elf figurines to the ever present bin, their tiny porcelain bodies shattering to off-tune Christmas carol tunes.  “Here.”

He handed her a parchment covered in black scrawl and some diagrams that she only recognized from pages of some of her older spell textbooks.  It was essentially a map of minds and what looked like an instruction book on how to meld two people's magics together.  The second half detailed how to deepen a connection via Legilimency.

“How,” Hermione began, but then changed her question.  “Who did you get these from?”

Severus crossed his arms and stalked over to the mantle.  Hermione had no doubt that if he had had any of this information previously he would have shared it, no matter how uncomfortable their experience other's minds had been.

“I received the information from one of my previous colleagues.  She taught me much about Legilimency and Occlumency,” Severus said.  “Her natural knowledge, paired with fascination for its origins, made her an unlikely friend, but her mind was very insightful in other areas that made her invaluable.”

Hermione felt her face heat with his tone change.  Instantly she disliked whoever this witch was, but she hated that she did.  She stood abruptly, her food forgotten.  Severus looked at it pointedly before arching a condescending eyebrow at her.  She ignored him, choosing instead to walk to the stairs down to the lab instead, knowing that he would follow.

When they had agreed to spells to cast on her over the course of the day, Hermione went back to reviewing the parchment he had given her.  Her mind kept drifting though.  The shapes and forms drawn that indicated an overlay of a magical signature and its connection to the physical body, however, were not his.  He had either written the above on her parchment, or somehow transferred it.  All she could think about was this woman that somehow had corresponded with him.  The feelings that came along with the thoughts were not good, making her stomach turn terribly for reasons she couldn't justify.  The thoughts plagued her through the morning and wouldn't leave her even through lunch.

“Who did teach you Occlumency?” Hermione asked after Severus came over to once again refresh the sensoring spells and the  _ Chroma _ spell after lunch.

“Several people,” Severus replied, his wand still making complex motions as she stood, staring at the wall.  They had both agreed on the necessity of monitoring her vital signs and magic on the approach of an attack, just in case there were any warning signs they might be able to use later.

Hermione looked at him patiently as he came around her front again, finishing the last spell with a final flourish.  When he caught her looking at him, he looked away quickly.  She saw the struggle across his face as he tucked his wand away.

“Predominantly Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy,” Severus said finally, crossing over to the board to note the time that he had cast the spells, missing her grimace.  “They provided the practicalities of it.  Lucia provided the more academic and historical approach.  Though she was also very...useful.”

Hermione’s hand clenched into a fist and she turned away.  Walking towards her own work area, she went over diagrams and refused to think of ways this woman had been useful.

“Lucius was actually a good prefect,” Severus continued, shocking Hermione by supplying more personal information than had been required.  “All pureblood families had basic instruction on how to shield their minds. Well, Slytherin families perhaps,” the disdain and prejudice for other houses here was evident, “Others not as much.  I suppose if you live in a sunshine bubble with no real knowledge of the outside world the delusion that such talent are unnecessary is commonplace.”

Hermione knew that he was making digs at the Weasleys again, it hadn't been his first time, but in this case she had to concede his point.  If Ron had had this knowledge, he would have been able to teach Harry.  At the very least he could have made him understand the importance of it.

“Lucius had the most basic skills however,” he said.  “Narcissa had the true talent.  She was the one that taught me visualization and how to bury emotions.  Such talents, well,” he paused. “Perhaps that is saying too much.  She is still a loyal friend.”

“You've seen her?” Hermione said, alarmed.

Severus looked at her like she had grown an extra head, “God no.  Fortunately for you and your situation,” he gestured to take in the board, their books, and the copious amount of parchment, “I am not suicidal.  Simply, that even years after my so called demise, she has never revealed my home to anyone.  After I had… proven myself to the Dark Lord, she agreed to Secret Keep my home.”

Setting the pencil down she had been toying with, Hermione gave him her full attention.  It was rare if he decided to give her a glimpse of what his life had been like before.  Normally when he did, though, it was more information that he had meant to give and that made it all the more important and precious.

“Cis-Narcissa gave me the keys for my survival.  When I first approached the Dark Lord it was with the blessing of one of the most important families in his inner circle.  Lucius was everything that the Dark Lord wanted to be. Pureblood. Connected. Influential. Rich.  That I had his approval meant everything in the beginning.  Narcissa was the one who showed me how to act,” Severus kept talking as if in a trance.  “It was...good in the beginning.  A place to belong.  It wasn't until…”

Hermione watched him curiously as he slowly sat on the stool nearest him.  He deliberately set his hands down flat in front of him on the table, studying them.

“It was a desire of all recruits to repay their benefactor.  Without the Dark Lord's support, I would never have achieved my Mastery.  The most prestigious placings were still very exclusive.  And expensive.  And though I had a valuable place, the Dark Lord always had needs for Veritaserum, poisons,” he made a vague gesture to indicate more than that. “And so on, I was never privy to the Inner Circle's workings like Lucius.  I hardly even knew who the others were, though I had a several good guesses.”

He frowned, lacing his fingers together in front of him.  Hermione watched as his thumbs slowly moved against each other, slow even passes, as he thought.  She didn't dare speak and ruin the moment.

“I took it upon myself to follow Dumbledore.  Whenever I had time, I would seek him out.  Always and carefully in public venues, tracking his movements,” he scoffed to himself.  “It was probably only the delusion of youth that made me think for a moment that I wasn't known to be there.  They were small, innocuous matters that I observed.  Meeting friends for dinner.  Shopping. Thinking that I would somehow discover an Order meeting place was folly.  But,” he sighed.  “It led me to a staff interview of a Divinations teacher.”

Hermione barely choked back a gasp.  She had known about him reporting the prophecy, but she had simply assumed that it had been later in his Death Eater career.  Which of course wasn't possible.

“How old were you?” She couldn't help whispering.

Severus let out a choked, laughing sound, “I had just turned twenty,” he said, before he let out another, more self-deprecating laugh.  “Just old enough to feel old, but be desperately young.  Because of that chance circumstance, barely two months after my twentieth birthday, I had experienced the highest station a Death Eater could hope for, a branding of my arm and warm acceptance into the Inner Circle of some of the most powerful and influential wizards I had ever known.  And before the end of that year, I had regretted every decision that had led me to that point.”

Severus stood, running a hand through his hair.  He was frowning, but confused, as he turned and looked at her for the first time.  Hermione tried to keep her face clear of emotions, but her heart was breaking a bit for the twenty year old version of the man before her.

“I've never told anyone that before,” he whispered, almost wonderingly.

Hermione felt her heart begin to pound and her stomach clenched.  Swallowing hard, she kept eye contact.  Something changed between them, the air charged, and she felt heat flood into her face.  Though he hadn't closed the distance between them at all, it suddenly felt like the room was too hot and too close.  She knew then that she wanted something that she couldn't, but she couldn't bring herself to look away.  Severus blinked, and abruptly shut down.  Hermione felt a flush of definite anger before he looked away finally.

“Excuse me,” Severus said abruptly before leaving the lab and walking up the stairs, leaving a very shaky Hermione to press cold hands against her flushed cheeks, wondering what the hell had happened.

Severus eventually rejoined her, under the pretense of having needed a different book on healing magic.  He was more reserved, cold, in his demeanor towards her, but not cruel.  None of his responses were mean, which Hermione counted as a victory, as normally any opening up he did was quickly followed by his need to snap at her to reestablish the distance that had been crossed.  The hours passed by with Severus occasionally refreshing the spells on her, but very little else changed.  Hermione kept studying until she felt that she had a solid enough understanding of the process to move forward.  Eventually, she decided that she was ready.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hermione asked after Daniel had vanished their tea things.

Severus stood, drawing close to the fire as he nodded.  That he had left some remainder of coffee undrunk spoke to his frame of mind, though.  She felt small tendrils of fear snake around her stomach, and shockingly she couldn’t tell if it was from her or from him.  It was only during intense emotional moments that she could pick up anything from him.  There was too much about magical bonding that she didn't know, so she wasn't sure what was normal or not.  Hermione took a deep breath, centered it, let it out, and then stood.

As she walked over, Hermione carefully kept herself focused inward.  In her mind she was remembering the carefully thought out common room that her mind had become.  The section of Normandy beach that Severus's mind had accepted for his mind.  The goal was to blend them further together.  That he was trusting her to do this was mad.  She tried not to feel the panic that was curling about deep in her belly, whether it was her own or his.  Squaring her shoulders, she reached for her wand.

“You shouldn't need that anymore,” Severus whispered, his voice pitched so low and deep she almost missed it.

“It gives me emotional security,” Hermione said with a small smile.  In reality, she knew she wasn't a good enough Legilmens to do it with just eye contact.  That the connection having deepened would probably let her into his mind that easily shook her to her core and she refused to think about it.

“Legilimens,” she cast, and pitched forward into his blacker than night eyes.

She spun downwards, controlling herself from completely spilling herself into his mind.  Carefully visualizing the pictures in her head, she drew her own mind with her into his.  It felt like a rising wave, just as it had before.  She let it meet her, but held herself back, trying to bring them back to the common room that she had imagined when he had first tried to enter her mind.

She felt him, the connection was open, but she didn’t try to enter his mind, not yet.  Once again, the only things that she could see in the sea of black was the fireplace to her right and the two chairs to her left.  The loveseat that Daniel had added wasn’t there and noticing its absence made it appear.  Angry at herself for getting distracted, she focused on the stones at her feet.  

Remembering the designs from the picture, she stared hard at the stone, carving the lines in the complicated swirling design at her feet into the elaborate circle that branched out around her on the stones.  The lines glowed like fire, burning themselves with liquid flame into the stone.  The rune additions, as well as the flowing script that she hadn’t identified along the edges was added.  As she turned around, making sure that she hadn’t forgotten a single line, she closed her eyes and looked for Severus.

Just like that, she was on the beach again, Severus in front of her.  The waves were hitting the beach gently and a breeze gently caressed her face.  He raised an eyebrow, looking down.  Hermione followed his gaze.  She had brought a bit of the common room to the beach.  The stone floor with its glowing lines was sitting on the sand, untouched by the scene around her.  Reaching out with her hands and her magic, she tried to burn the lines that were required to place around Severus to make him the anchor.  Nothing.  Frowning, she looked up and around, trying to ignore him.  Water.  She needed… Going with the same instinct that had guided her when she had manipulated his magic, Hermione pushed herself, calling the water from the ocean so that it traced the lines in the sand around his feet to make the correct lines.  When the design was finished, she frowned.  Concentrating, she put force behind it, solidifying the design, hardening the lines until they became hardened stone.

“Well done,” Severus murmured quietly.

Hermione tried not to concentrate on him at all, trying to ride whatever wave of instinct she was on.  The studying had given her part, but now she had to tie the magic to the sigils.  Pulling part of the magic from him, she stretched it from his circle in a line across to hers, forming a figure eight in the center, before she circled it around the circle around her feet, before she tied it back to the figure eight, and anchored it firmly around his circle.  Taking a deep breath in, she released it in a sigh, and just like that the scenery shifted.

Suddenly, Hermione was back, standing in her mental common room, in darkness but for the fireplace, with Severus still standing on the beach.  It was as if both were facing each other across an archway that didn’t end.  The dusky sunlight looked good on him, Hermione couldn’t help thinking.  She wondered briefly what he would look like if she ever managed to get him to a real beach, if his skin would look healthy and warm.  Looking down, she saw the the cross of the eight that she had drawn between them met in the perfect center where sand met stone.  Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes and she felt her physical self do the same, breaking the connection.

Swaying, Hermione caught herself, her hands still outstretched, on something warm.  Her hands closed around warm arms and she startled, looking up into Severus's face.  Somehow they had gotten closer while she had been so focused on what she was doing.  She felt his surprise as well and he quickly straightened his arms to give both of them distance between one another, yet without letting go.  It was probably for the best, because she wasn’t sure if she could have stood on her own just yet.

“Did it,” Hermione stopped, looking away and coughing from a dry throat before she continued. “Did it work?”

Severus looked down at her.  He could still feel her, in the back of his mind.  She was confused and slightly dazed, but well.  As he pushed her a bit further away, she looked back up at him.  A feeling curled about deep in his lower stomach that felt like longing and he released her quickly, stepping back before the feeling could intensify.

“I believe it did, yes,” Severus managed to say miraculously around a suddenly dry throat.  He looked away.  “It’s simply… disorienting at the moment.”

Too often since the last attack he had had to beat aside his baser urges, but this had felt different and had come with less warning than normal.  Somehow alien.  Concern bled through into his feelings and he thanked whatever Creator existed, if one existed, that he had turned aside seconds earlier.  It was happening again.  He was picking up on her feelings after she had been in his head.  Hope like he had never known threatened to burst out of his chest and it was harder than ever to beat it into submission.  He had to be sure, but there was a chance, however infinitesimal, that the longing hadn’t been his own this time.  Now more than ever, he was grateful for his determination about Christmas.

“Severus?” came a concerned voice and a hand touched him on the arm.

It took every effort within him not to flinch or pull immediately away from her touch.  It was work, but if his mad plan was to have any hope he would need to show comfort with her, not unease, reluctance, or at worst, revulsion.

“I am… well,” he said, and he felt it again, the feeling of concern, trying desperately to not shake off the gentle hand on his arm.  “There will only be one way to test it, however.”

Hermione shuddered in front of him and he felt her dread as if it was his own as she backed away and crossed her arms over her chest.  Again, he wondered if she was experiencing similar emotions from him, but didn’t dare test it like he had the last time.  He needed this to work.  They needed her to have someway to fight this and this was their best shot.  In his mind, he pictured the page of the book in his mind, the exact quote, but he held back.  Now would not be the time.  She would have to remember.

“We need to redo the spells,” Severus remarked.  “The Chroma spell should be sufficient to tell if the anchoring was successful.”

Hermione nodded, opening her arms so that he could better focus the spells.  Now for the third time, he traced the familiar spells.  He wondered, not for the first time, what she would think if she knew how truly familiar he was with the diagnostic and monitoring spells that he was casting.  Too often for his liking, he found himself thinking about what would happen if he told her, truly, about his time as a Death Eater.  About what had been done to him and what he had done while she had had her nose buried in her books as she walked these halls.  He wondered if she would still want to be ‘friends’ with him if she knew.  About how she would never consider anything more..  Severus cut that line of thinking short abruptly.  

“There,” he said, finishing the last spell and stepping back.  “I would say that it worked.”

There was now a pulsing line of nearly pure white reaching out from the center of her chest in his direction.  She looked at him with a frown, before she cocked her head to the side, thinking.  Drawing her wand, Hermione cast the  _ Chroma _ spell on him as well.  Evidently she saw what she needed because she took a steadying breath and nodded.

“I would say so as well,” she responded.

“Dinner perhaps now?” he asked.

Hermione nodded again and not even five seconds later, Daniel had the table covered with food.  As they took their seats, Severus kept a quiet eye on the woman in front of him.  She was doing more moving food about her plate than actually consuming it.  As someone who was a frequent practicer of this type of deception, it didn’t work on him.  No matter how empty her plate appeared when they stood up some thirty minutes later, she had only eaten one small potato and four bites of meat.  He knew better than to call attention to it though.  If she knew that he had been watching so closely it would only make her more anxious.  She needed mindless distraction.

“Why dentistry?” Severus asked finally to fill the silence.  Though the question had logic and reason behind it, the thought that he had asked about her parents made him cringe internally.  But it was a strategic move if his mad plan for Christmas had a single hope of going off without exploding in his face.

Obviously she was startled as she looked up at him from where she had finally sat in her chair before the fire.  She looked away with a small smile, pensive.  For a moment he was worried that she wouldn't answer or that he had been too transparent.

“My grandfather on my dad's side was a dentist.  He and my grandmother passed before I was born.  On my mum's side, her father was a surgeon and her mother a nurse.  Mum never had any interest in anything bloody like that, and she loved children.  Child dentistry was the compromise they eventually made,” Hermione said and Severus felt a pang of disappointment from her and all too clearly memories of her grandmother's disapproval that had been recalled when they had been at the Grangers' came back to him.  “Neither really were planning on pushing me to it, but secretly I think that they were proud that I was bright.”

“And that they had raised a stack of books with legs undoubtedly gave them great pleasure,” Severus drawled, leaning back in his chair and folding his fingers together.

Hermione gave a short laugh, “Hah bloody hah,” she said sarcastically, but the melancholy that had been growing as she spoke lifted marginally.

At that point. her cat deigned to make an appearance, slinking out of her bedroom before leaping up on the back of the loveseat that now stretched between their two chairs.  He hated the damn thing.  Neither of them had really used it.  There seemed to be an unspoken rule that it either belonged to the blasted animal or that it was just too close to closing the agreed distance between the two of them.  Hermione was watching him, not speaking.  Severus was keeping a close eye on the colors flashing over her body, but nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Not yet anyway.

“It’s funny,” Hermione said.  “Dentistry was how they met.  They met at a conference.  It was Mum actually.  She said that she knew my dad was it from the second they met.”

A spike hit Severus in the stomach.  A feeling that Severus was very familiar with surged in him from her.  Pure panic.  It was nearly enough to trigger an episode from him and only sheer force of will and the fact that he knew the panic was not his own kept him motionless and sane.  Outwardly, he only saw her widen her eyes marginally.

“Something surprising about that?” He drawled, trying to lace it with nastiness to hide his true concern.

Hermione shook herself.  “No. No, of course not,” she said.  “Just remembering something my Mum said.”

Severus found himself in the uncanny position of wanting to continue a conversation of small talk.  He was faced with a rather terrible dilemma of needing more information, but becoming uncomfortable and terribly out of character in order to try and get it.  As he was mulling over this particular problem, he watched her stand and walk back around to their dining table with barely a thought while trying to think of a way to get her to divulge more about her family without seeming to want the information.

His customary mug of black coffee was offered with nary a thought and he accepted it from her without acknowledgement, though his eyes followed her as she sat back down.  Severus purposefully didn't thank her.  He looked over to where the elf had set his coffee things with dark thoughts. Interfering little thing.  Traces of humor tickled around his stomach and he looked back at Hermione in surprise.  She was laughing at him.  Not loudly, but definitely laughing.  So many months ago he would have been offended, angry, probably said something cruel and stormed off, but now.  Now he knew she was without malice or guile.  Even if she found humor from him, it was never malicious or at his expense.  He answered her laugh with a smirk.

“Care to share what you find so amusing?” He drawled, drawing his mug close to his nose and enjoying the scent.

“That you're glaring daggers at an elf that isn't here simply because he wanted you to walk for yours when he delivered mine,” Hermione said still giggling slightly as she cradled her tea.  Sure enough, there at the table at her elbow was her tray of biscuits and tea things.

It hadn't been the reason.  Somehow, everything the bloody elf did recently was to get them closer together.  It was working, surely, in some ways, but if he became too obvious he would spoil the thing and send her running to South America rather than stay with him and damn the consequences.

Just then Severus saw it.  If he had blinked, it would have been gone.  He carefully set his mug down and glared daggers at her, heightening her humor, but keeping her oblivious to the fact that he was now watching and counting the seconds to see if her magic blinked again like that.  Sure enough, thirty seconds later, another blink.  She was saying something, but he didn't listen merely stood when her magic blinked twenty seconds after the second.  He saw her set aside her tea and stand, in some far away place he heard her ask him what was wrong, fear in her voice.  Ten seconds passed and then her body crumpled inward with a muted cry.

Severus felt the pain in her chest as if it was his own, but he opened the connection between them wide and grasped her hands and helped her hold on.  During the attack itself, he didn't watch her magic terrifyingly try to drain.  He was completely concentrated on her eyes, willing them open, willing himself to take the pain, to keep her conscious, keep her fighting.  He lost count around twenty seconds when she finally sagged against him, her knees buckling as he lowered them both to sitting on the loveseat, his arms now on her elbows for support.

Hermione sat gasping on the sofa, her head resting back on the wooden frame.  This had been worse, longer, but somehow she had managed.  The fear was there still but somehow distant.  She vaguely felt hands run down her arms to hold her hands and she looked up into deep, black eyes in shock.  The attack had passed.  He had never tried to touch her when she hadn't been injured or in need of help  in some way before.

“We will survive this,” he said harshly, an emotion lacing his voice making it deeper and yet somehow more strangled as if it was hard for him to keep speaking.  “If you can trust me, we will.  That I promise.”

Hermione felt her throat close and she realized just how close he was.  Close enough for her to smell the coffee he had been sipping.  She felt his hands spasm slightly around her own before he pushed himself up and away from her, pacing to the mantle.  He was tense, far tenser than he had right to be.  There had been a weight, an importance, to his words that she wasn't sure she had completely understood.  There was more there.

“Severus, I…” Hermione started, but let it die.  She wanted to say she did trust him, because it was true.  But why would saying it now sound like an apology?  She had nothing to apologize for.  But still, she didn't try to speak again.  It was Severus who broke the silence once more.

“I believe anchoring your magic to mine did in fact prove useful,” he said to one of the reindeer on the mantle. “Though I believe that the connection has been strained considerably if not been completely broken.  Cast the  _ Chroma  _ spell on us both to check.”

As Hermione drew her wand to do so, Severus continued, “I witnessed several blinks in your magic before the attack itself.  If we can develop a spell to warn us of the first blink, we should be able to fend off the worst of the attack as we did tonight.”

Hermione was attempting to analyze the colors of both of their magics as he spoke, but there wasn't any real need.  The strong column of white light that had connected their magics previously was barely more than a wisp, but the connection was still there.  

“After the holidays I believe we will need to consult an outside source,” Severus said and Hermione started hearing true weariness in his voice.  “For which we will need Polyjuice I'm afraid.  A task for another day.  Forgive me.”

Hermione watched him make his way to his room, for a moment afraid that somehow helping her with the attack, being bound up in it, had hurt him.  But somehow she felt she would have known if that had been the case.  She wished him a good night as he disappeared.

Crookshanks chose that moment to leap up into her lap.  Leaning back once more she closed her eyes.  How all of the sides that she had come to know of Severus Snape were the same was a confusing thing.  As she petted her cat behind the ears, soothed by his nearly silent purring, she pictured those black eyes, so near hers, saying words that sounded like someone else's.  Her eyes fluttered closed as she thought of the tone he had used.  It was if he was quoting.  Severus Snape didn't promise possibly impossible things.  She wished she could have thought more, but she was wrung out.  It wasn't long before she was asleep, lulled there by the crackling fire and her cat's purrs.


	29. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (slightly) Belated Birthday to our dearly loved Severus Snape! He deserves all of the happiness in the world and by God, I will see he gets it. I hope that this is not to spoiler-y to say, but I feel that real life has far too many unhappy tales to tell to ever write something that doesn't have a Happily Ever After.

_"This would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had." ~ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_  
  


  
It had been merely days ago that Hermione had been so looking forward to Christmas and had been as thrilled as she had been at six years old to see the decorations up.  Now, on the morning of Christmas Eve, she was only saddened.  There would be no Christmas dinner with her family, no Ron or Harry or Ginny, no grandparents, no reading of A Christmas Carol, and no midnight mass.  None of the true markers that Christmas had come.    
  
As Hermione dressed for the day, slipping into jeans, a tee shirt, and an over-large cranberry colored knit jumper, she knew she shouldn't have been upset.  She would be spending it with Severus.  The corners of her mouth upturned immediately at the thought, try as she might to stifle the happy feeling that the thought brought with it.  
  
Severus, however, she found was definitely not full of Christmas cheer.  He was in such a particularly nasty mood that it made her wonder if he had slept at all.  He seemed determined, however, to keep his mood as much to himself as he could, hiding behind a book for the better part of the day, with the rare exception being to blast any unfortunate ornaments that attempted to break into song on their tree.  Hermione found herself rather content to let him do it.  It wasn't until after lunch that she began to suspect that something might actually be wrong.    
  
Hermione knew by now that his stomach was not always comfortable with food, so not eating and pretending to push food around wasn't anything incredibly new for him.  What was new was that he was trying to eat, even while looking almost completely green.  The strange behavior persisted into the afternoon, all accompanied by glances at the clock which was definitely now making her nervous.  Finally, at four in the afternoon, Daniel appeared at his elbow, making the wizard have to practically bend in half so he could whisper in his ear, before vanishing.  
  
“Well,” Severus said abruptly as he stood, setting the book that he had been attempting to read down.  “We should be going.  Don't want to be late.  We'll leave in an hour.  You'll probably want to change.”  
  
With that and nothing more, Severus strode from their sitting room, the bedroom door closing behind him, leaving a completely bewildered Hermione staring after him.  Marking her place with a finger, she stood and made her way into her bedroom before she gasped.  
  
On her bed was a burgundy and gold dress.  The gold came from the heavy beading and sequins that somehow made it feel like armor, yet still looking festive.  It was beautiful.    
  
With a shock, she realized that this must be what Severus was planning on getting her for Christmas.  Obviously, he wanted to take her out somewhere because he knew that she had gotten him something.  She swallowed.  Hard.  Going out with him in London had been enough of a necessity that it hadn’t felt like a date.  Someone getting her a dress, telling her to get ready to go somewhere on Christmas Eve?  That felt like a date.  Instantly her stomach started twisting, her heart pounded and her hands went clammy.  How was she going to tell him no?  
   
Looking down at her still ringless hand, she swallowed again.  Had he gotten the wrong idea?  Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought he was going to ask her out on Christmas.  Though, she laughed shakily, he hadn’t asked her out so much so as barked orders.  Hermione started rubbing her shaky fingers in circles on her temples.  Where was she going?  She hoped somewhere indoors, because that dress was too short to walk very far in the cold.  And it was very Muggle.  Severus was taking her somewhere in Muggle London, maybe?  It had been a combination of snow and rain from what she remembered last year, she didn’t have shoes for this!  
   
“Daniel,” she whispered, the panicky feeling rising in her chest.  
   
The tiny house elf appeared with a pop.  He didn’t answer her, merely went to the bedroom door and closed it, which, in her shock, Hermione had neglected to do.  She waited until he walked back in front of her.  His sad eyes told her before asking that he had not yet found her ring and so she didn’t ask.  Last time, they had come to a mutual agreement that she not ask, and he would merely bring it to her if he could so she could spare him the self-inflicted punishments.  
   
“Daniel, what’s going on?” Hermione asked.  “Do you know where we’re going?”  
   
The elf squeaked excitedly, all sadness and dejectedness gone, as he practically bounced while he said, “Yes, miss!”  
   
Hermione closed her eyes in pain.  If he was this excited over it, she was terrified that Severus would think this a date.  God, what was she going to do?  How would she tell him she couldn’t do this?  
   
“Where are we going?” she asked  
   
“Shouldn’t tell, miss,” Daniel said.  “Thinks the Headmaster wants it for a surprise, miss.”  
   
“Daniel…” Hermione said in a strained voice.  “You don’t think that… oh, how am I going to ask you this.  I don’t think that this is a good idea.”  
   
“What?” Daniel squeaked, looking distressed. “No!  Miss must go with the Headmaster.  It is for miss to go.”  
   
“Daniel,” Hermione said, looking longingly at the dress before shaking herself, “I’m engaged!  I know I don’t have my ring on and all that, but how’s it going to look if I go somewhere now, with Severus?  I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.  This,” she gestured towards the dress, “is too much like a date.  I couldn’t!”  
   
She couldn’t imagine the hurt that she would cause if she let him get his hopes up.  Her own growing feelings for him she could ignore.  She would stamp them out eventually, she lied to herself.  But to hurt him… Oh that would be too much.  She couldn’t, wouldn’t, give him another emotional blow when his life had been so full of them already.  
   
“If Daniel,” the elf said hesitantly, drawing Hermione’s attention back to him, “could tell Miss Granger that it was not supposed to be a date.  Would Miss go with the Headmaster?”  
   
“I…” Hermione looked between the dress and the elf.  She wasn’t sure how this could not be construed as a date.  She opened her mouth to say as much but what came out was,  “I would need shoes.  And goodness, stockings maybe?  If I’m outside for more than a second I would freeze to death.”  
   
She wasn’t a tall woman, but the dress looked like it might hit little lower than mid-thigh.  Where had he gotten it?  It was perfect for Christmas, festive and all that, but she couldn’t picture Severus going and purchasing it for her.  Suddenly ,she had a thought.  
   
The house elf had disappeared and reappeared.  Next to the dress was now a pair of burgundy stockings and low heels with an ankle strap that were the perfect complementary shade of gold.  On the bed now too was a traveling cloak with ivory fur trim.  Hermione glared slightly at him.  That answered where he had gotten the clothes.  
  
“How did you do this?” Hermione asked him with an accusatory glance.  
  
The creature didn't even have the good grace to look abashed.  Brazen was a quality she had always wanted the elves that came to her to have, but now seeing it in full Slytherin boldness made her reconsider.  Not really, she admitted, but to have an entire race as bold as Daniel would bring the wizarding world to its knees easily.  
  
“House elves have ways Miss Granger,” he said.  “Daniel hopes you are liking them?”  
  
“So all of that not being able to get me clothes when we first arrived?” Hermione asked.  
  
Daniel looked surprised and guilty before vanishing.  Hermione turned back to the dress.  So she would have to trust the elf that somehow this wasn't a date.  And she wasn't disappointed that it wouldn't be.  Not in the least. With that conviction firm in her mind, she started getting dressed.  
  
“Can I know where we're going now?” Hermione asked, adjusting the traveling cloak on her shoulders as she stepped into the common room, thinking that Severus would be waiting for her.  It had taken her nearly the entirety of the hour for her to dress, do her makeup, and pin her hair into something relatively passable.  
  
Looking at the clock, she saw there were two minutes until five and she bit her lip uncertainly.  Then the door behind her opened, she turned around, and abruptly forgot how to breathe.  
  
Severus stood framed in his bedroom doorway, a large overcoat thrown over his arm.  That hadn't been what had thrown her.  He stood, deliberately brushing dust from his sleeve that didn't exist as she stared at him.  He was in a Muggle three piece suit, black, like normal, but with a dark colored stripe running through it that she couldn't make out from this distance.  The white of his shirt seemed to stand out all the more because of the brilliant emerald tie that he was wearing with it.  The greatest change however was his hair.  He had pulled it harshly and deliberately back from his face in a tail.    
  
Suddenly, Hermione was forced to stare at his complete face, harsh cheekbones, large nose, and pale skin broken by strong eyebrows and black lashes.  He looked up finally and she closed her mouth with a snap.  He looked clean, the suit looked nearly new, and he looked shockingly well, the green tinge from lunch completely forgotten.    Realizing she was still staring, she looked away.  
  
Still he said nothing as the rustle of a coat told Hermione he was putting his on.  As he walked towards her, she still felt herself struck rather dumb.  She cleared her throat and he looked at her with an amused expression.  She wanted to ask where they were going.  
  
“Thank you for the dress,” she said instead and felt the mad need to continue talking.  “I mean, I know that I said that I had gotten you a present, but you really didn’t need to do anything.  It would have been perfectly fine if you.”  
  
“It’s not my gift,” Severus interrupted her, looking at her for the first time.  “It was simply necessary for our destination.  I had no wish for you to be made uncomfortable by your state of dress.  Daniel.”  
  
The last seemed so abrupt, she jumped when the house elf himself appeared.  The elf was positively beaming from ear to ear and Hermione couldn't help laughing.  He had made a crown from tinsel and had holly leaves sticking out of odd places in his towel.  
  
“Happy Christmas!” Daniel said enthusiastically.  “Is the Headmaster and Miss Granger being ready to go now sir?”  
  
“Where are we going?” Hermione asked, even as she extended her hand to the elf.  
  
“Trust me,” Severus said instead, and Hermione saw something in his eyes, heard something else in those two words, but couldn't pause to digest it because then Daniel disappeared, taking them with him.  
  
Daniel reappeared with them on the front steps of a very modest porch of a house in France.  Hermione could tell what country it was in immediately because she had been to this house before.  Once she had caught her breath, at least a minute or so after Daniel had disappeared again, she looked up at Severus with tears in her eyes.  
  
“I do believe it is still customary to knock, even in France, unless I am much mistaken.  They will wonder what is keeping us,” Severus said, the undercurrent of amusement lacing his sarcasm making her choke out a slightly wet laugh.  
  
Shaking herself, Hermione wiped at her eyes as she processed what he had said.  It spoke somewhat to her shocked mental state that she hadn't realized what he implied immediately.  
  
“You spoke to them?” Hermione asked incredulously, not feeling the cold air making her breath visible.  “How did you find them? How did-- They knew we were coming?”  
  
Severus rolled his eyes, ignored her shocked questions, and then knocked rather loudly on the door.  Immediately, she heard excited voices from within and tried rather desperately to get a hold of herself, but then the door opened and it was for nothing.  
  
“Hermione!”  
  
Immediately, Hermione was pulled through the doorway and into a hug by an older woman.  She lost the battle with tears and began happily crying into the woman’s shoulder when a man strode in from the other room and she was lost in hugs and more happy tears.  
  
“We had doubts, when you said you could surprise her,” Dr. Granger said over his wife’s shoulder.  “Our Hermione has never been easy to surprise.”  
  
Hastily wiping at her eyes, Hermione turned to see Severus stepping through the door.  Looking back at her parents, she felt her mouth open and close rapidly in surprise though she couldn't seem to make any kind of coherent remark.  
  
“A trick I will endeavor to remember if it will silence the near constant urge for her to question to death everything I say,” Severus said blandly.  
  
To Hermione's shock, her mother laughed good naturedly and welcomed them more fully inside.  Hermione shrugged off the traveling cloak into her mother's waiting hands.    
  
“Hermione, the dress looks beautiful on you,” her mother said beaming, gesturing for her to turn around, which she did, laughing.  
  
Eventually, the pair was shuffled into the small living room that overlooked a central garden shared by other houses in the neighborhood.  Seeing Severus's stark black among the whites and blues of the living room made her smile at him.  She had expected him to be awkward, or stilted, but once he had complimented the painting of a seascape on the wall, the conversation flowed easily about their time in France, settling in, and decorating their new home.  Hermione wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or not that her parents kept their conversation on themselves, very carefully not asking personal questions of either or them, but she was grateful nonetheless.  It wasn’t until dinner that they even spoke about anything resembling with wizarding world.  
  
“Truly wonderful,” Severus said smoothly, sitting back slightly in his chair, though his back still was as ramrod straight as it had been all night.  Hermione wondered if his back muscles were getting tired yet.  “I would say you have even surpassed the house elves of Hogwarts.  Though there is one elf in particular that I would deny saying that in from of.”  
  
Severus looked pointedly at Hermione and the fierceness in his tone made her giggle.  Realizing what he’d done however, made her feel her parents’ eyes on her.  Just as she was going to begin an explanation, his voice came again.  
  
“I do apologise,” Severus said smoothly, “I forgot myself.  Has Hermione explained about house elves?”  
  
Hermione had a moment of realising what he was doing and she was glad.  For all that this situation was bizarre, he was making them feel comfortable.  Not just with him, but with the wizarding world being the ‘other’ rather than them being on the outside looking in.  But following that gladness and gratitude, suddenly a warm suspicion began to take hold of her.  
  
“She has,” her father replied.  “Though her outrage has now dimmed somewhat.”  
  
Severus looked at her when he said, “It became something more productive.  The outrage of a child turned with maturity to the determination of a woman destined to bring change where it is needed.”  
  
Hermione felt herself flush and duck her head.  Something had changed.  Something had happened that she had missed between them.  It had changed so quickly that she found herself trying to understand and keep up.  She was so flustered that she hadn't realised that the conversation had continued without her.  
  
“Most do not.  Especially if they are as the Hogwarts elves are,” Severus was saying.  “A house elf wanting to be free of service is a rare thing.  Perhaps some that are mistreated would want different conditions, but first they would have to understand that they deserve better or sometimes even that better exists.  It is difficult to want something that you do not feel you do deserve, especially if you’re uncertain that better treatment even exists.”  
  
Hermione fought hard not to look at him, and only at her parents’ considering faces.  It was possible they missed the subject change, but she doubted it.  Thankfully her mother changed the subject by clearing the dinner plates and they moved on, mainly because her mum claimed that she wanted time alone with her so the men were shuffled off into the other room.  
  
Together as her mother did the clearing with her into their very modest kitchenette, Hermione could practically feel the stare building.  She was fairly certain that her mother would have been a master Legilimens if only she had had magic.    
  
“I was a bit surprised when it was this gentleman that brought you here instead of Ron,” she whispered to her daughter to keep the men in the other room from hearing.  
  
Immediately, Hermione felt the flush at the back of her neck and was torn about how much she could tell her mother.  On one hand, she had already told her quite a bit, saving him from the past, that he needed to hide out for a bit, and that they were spending time together, but on the other hand, she hadn't said anything about living with him away from the world because she had to hide out as well.  
  
Taking her silence as an answer, her mother continued, “I had thought that he would have proposed or something by now actually.  And strangely enough, both of us saw a ring on your finger back in October.”  
  
Hermione’s stomach tightened in panic as she froze, thinking back to October and whether or not she had been so stupid as to take her ring with her.  Of course she had been wearing it, stupid, stupid.  
  
“And I do notice its lack now,” her mother said, taking a dish from her daughter's numb hands as Hermione tried to process, still slightly frozen in shock.  “Not that it would mean anything of course.  If you're not ready to talk about it, you don't need to say anything.  But Hermione,” Hermione finally looked up to see her mother crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter, “Did something happen with you and Ron?”  
  
“Nothing happened!” Hermione said, a bit too quickly and defensively..  
  
“Hm,” her mother said with a shrug as she turned away, fixing the kettle.  Looking at the time however she sighed, and set it aside before giving her daughter a pointed look.  “Though I suppose nothing could be its own problem.”  
  
Hermione wasn't sure there had been one needed, but she didn't feel the need to jump to Ron's immediate defense as she had done so often in the past.  Instead, she found herself mutely following her mother out to where Severus and her father were now standing around the seats.  
  
“Similar,” Severus was saying.  “I was fortunate enough to be able to test out of several subjects while completing my mastery.  The potions discipline is one of the closest to modern medicine, yet still being an art form in and of itself.  The ability to create new solutions to problems both old and new is both a science in the measuring of ingredients, but also consists of knowing when the shade is correct or the liquid will respond to a stir that is clockwise or counterclockwise, which is much more at home on an artist’s pallette than a chemist’s notebook.”  
  
“You like the subject you teach, then,” her father said in a considering tone.  
  
“Half right,” Severus said, and some of the dry humor that Hermione had only begun to hear on a regular basis crept in, “I like my subject.  As to whether or not I like teaching it, I would have to look to your daughter’s opinion.”  
  
To his surprise, both of her parents laughed and Hermione flushed again.  Why was this entire evening determined to make her look as if she had been sunburned?  She had a feeling why she was now the brunt of the joke and an even stronger feeling that why was about to be explained.  
  
“Oh, please do not misunderstand,” her mother was saying quickly. “We meant no offense.  And truthfully, our Hermione always spoke of you with great respect.”  
  
“But there was always that frustration in almost every word,” her father said around a laugh.  “She could never find what you wanted her to do.  Oh, she appreciated every mark you gave her, but she was receiving top marks from every teacher, and extra credit to boot.  No matter how many extra inches or sources, she could never get that from you and to say it irritated her would be saying in kindly.  Though she never admitted it.”  
  
“Dad,” Hermione said firmly.  It was difficult to keep a strong tone, though, with her face feeling like a furnace.  
  
Severus had leaned back against the back of the sofa, his arms crossed, looking pensieve.  It was his resting face, more than anything, but she only knew that from her time with him.  He was probably only considering something to say, but the glare he was aiming at her mother’s rug looked about to set it on fire.  He took a breath and his expression was one of politeness when he finally looked up.  
  
“Allow me to then pay a compliment and give a criticism to the girl who was once in my classroom,” Severus said, addressing her parents as equally as her.  “Hermione was a gifted student.  She was able to follow my instructions and her textbooks to the letter.  She was and truly is the most brilliant witch of her age.  But I never saw it in my classroom.”  
  
Hermione felt the stirrings of a school girl’s embarrassment threaten to start curdling in her stomach, but she had perspective now.  This was his way of speaking, of complimenting, and she tried desperately to keep the offense from her face so it would keep him talking.  
  
“As I said, she was a gifted student.  But I didn’t want answers to all the questions posed.  Answers stop the process.  If you think that you have the answer, you stop questioning whether or not the answer is a good one.  No, in my classroom I never saw her brilliance.  But when confronted with a problem, that was where your daughter shone.  Whether it was a charmed galleon or a jinxed parchment,” Severus said with another pointed look in her direction.  
  
“Well then maybe if you had taught classes like that, I would have been able to show you,” Hermione shot at him, refusing to feel quelled by the censure or bolstered for the compliments.  She also really didn’t want to have to admit to jinxing someone in from of her parents.  
  
“If you had entered my N.E.W.T. level class, you would have done,” Severus said.  “Because you had a solid foundation of brewing correct potions with which to build upon.  To set problems to even fifth year students in a potions classroom would have proved disastrous results.  Explosions at best and mass poisonings at worst.”  
  
As she tried to process this, her mother gave a soft gasp, touching her father’s arm and looking at the clock.  Hermione had seen Severus tense and practically flinch at the sound, but she doubted her parents did.  
  
“You’ll forgive us Severus, but we did manage to find a Christmas concert for tonight.  It’s at the local church, before their mass.  We would have normally gone home you see,” her mother smiled apologetically at Hermione, “So we wanted to have a bit of it with us.  It would be an hour, and we would be honored for you to come. We’re not Catholic, so we wouldn’t stay for the mass, but goodness, the music will be lovely.  Won’t you join us?”  
  
Severus looked at Hermione, shocking her a bit, but whatever he saw there made him push off a bit from the sofa and release his crossed arms to his sides and bowing his head slightly to her as he said, “I would be honored.”  
  
If someone asked her years later what music was played, Hermione wouldn't have been able to answer.  The truth was, she had been so focused on the man beside her that she had barely heard the performance.  The pews had been so filled with people that no matter how pressed she had been against her mother, it had been impossible for her leg not to touch Severus's.  She had been so conscious of it that she had felt every muscle movement made by him, every tension, every fidget, and every relaxation.  It hadn't been until the final number that she had been truly able to relax and enjoy the music and by then it had almost been too late to fully enjoy it.  
  
By the time that they returned, windswept with cheeks almost numb from the cold, it was nearly half past ten.  Everyone had seemed to love it though, even Severus.  Hermione had been so conscious of him that when he had finally relaxed she had even seen his near smile.  
  
“I know that it's very late,” her mother said, looking at them both with a smile.  “But I did have desserts?”  
  
“And a book,” her father added, closing the coat closet door with a snap.  
  
“Really?” Hermione asked happily, earning a snort from behind her.  She rounded on him irritably.  
  
“Merely marveling at your unchanging devotion to coverbound paper objects,” Severus said with a smirk.  
  
“Well this is special,” Hermione said.  
  
“Astonish me,” he drawled.  
  
It was her mother who answered instead though she had opened her mouth to respond.  She was holding a brand new copy of A Christmas Carol that shockingly made tears come to Hermione’s eyes.  It was just another thing that she had thought she had lost and had somehow regained.  She couldn’t have pictured doing it with Ron.  As a wizard, she had always been sure he would have picked apart the elements of the story and questioned it to death.  The ghosts alone had given her reason for pause.  She just had been so sure that he wouldn’t have understood that she hadn’t tried.  Well, she might have done this year and it might have worked out, but the attack had happened and she had thought her only chance lost.  Until now.    
  
“It was always a tradition in my family,” her mother continued, motioning them all to sit.  She chose one of the side chairs, putting her husband opposite her and forced Severus and Hermione into choosing the sofa between them.  “Hermione always fell asleep listening to us read when she was younger.  As soon as she was able though, she started taking a turn.”  
  
“A family tradition then,” Severus said, sitting beside Hermione.  
  
“Precisely,” her mother said with a smile, surprising them by only setting the book in her seat before going off to the kitchen and leaving them for a moment.  
  
“It did surprise me,” Severus remarked quietly in the silence, “That with such strong ties here that you immersed yourself so much in the wizarding world.”  
  
Hermione looked at him, confused.  She had never suspected he had any feelings of the sort.  Sitting closer to her father however, she felt his full attention on them both and she had a strong wish that he could have saved this particular comment for when they were alone.  
  
“As I said, I did find you a particularly gifted student,” Severus continued as if the comment had no real worth and was simply idle small talk. “I would not have been surprised if you had continued at a university such as Oxford or Cambridge with your academic aptitudes.  It would certainly help give you arguments if you chose to continue at the Ministry.  Your arguments concerning laws that still favor purebloods are not completely dissimilar to those who attempted to favor titled nobility at a time where the merchant class was on the rise.”  
  
Hermione gaped at him slightly.  He had never, ever, voiced even something remotely similar to her.    
  
“I wouldn’t put anything past her, that’s for certain,” her father said, and there was something in his voice that reminded her strongly of the pride he had voiced when she used to bring back perfect marks on her reports in school.  
  
“Put what past her?” her mother asked as she returned with a tray of small Christmas cakes that she had been making since before Hermione could remember.  
  
“Balancing her work in the wizarding world and a degree from Cambridge,” her father said, taking a cake and a napkin.  
  
It was then that Hermione realised and a heat spread in her stomach that had nothing to do with Christmas or her parents or nostalgia.  She was working herself up into a very fine rage.  He had done this on purpose.  She forced a smile to stay on her face as she accepted some cake and her mother settled herself to start reading, but it was all that she could do not to strangle the man beside her as they talked around her about how a muggle law degree could actually help her in the Ministry.  A finger tapped her right hand absently.  
  
“Your nails will probably start drawing blood if you keep clenching your fist that tightly,” Severus whispered to her as her parents were still talking.  
  
“You did this on purpose,” Hermione said through gritted teeth and a smile, but released her clenched hand all the same.  
  
Severus simply smirked and sat back with his cake, giving her parents the full of his attention when her mother started to read.  It wasn’t until the ghost of Jacob Marley had exited the scene that Hermione felt the anger slowly start to filter away.  He had used the knowledge gained by eavesdropping at their home to taunt all of them with the knowledge that she could possibly have both wizarding and Muggle degrees.  But to what end?  Ron wouldn’t understand and getting her parents’ hopes up that they would have something to brag about would be cruel.    
  
Her father had taken the next part, and it was difficult somehow not to look at Severus while he read about how Scrooge had been as a boy.  It had been this part of the book that had let her parents be so understanding when she had asked to stay at school over Christmas with Harry that year.  Slowly she let the story take her again, relaxing into the couch.  Hopefully, her parents would forget it.  A part of her still felt like she was missing a great why for his motivations.    
  
Hermione was grateful when she took over the reading of the third part, as her eyes had been starting to droop slightly.  She was determined however, and took over the story of Christmas Present as best she could without her grandfather’s normally deep baritone to speak his voice.  Which unfortunately gave Severus the chance to read the last of the spirits.  Her mother gave him the opportunity to bow out by offering to take it, but thankfully, Severus read.    
  
It was late enough now that Hermione tucked her legs underneath her and curled into the couch’s arm without feeling a trace of self-consciousness.  His voice was meant for this, she couldn’t help thinking as she hugged a pillow and closed her eyes, enjoying it.  When it passed to her mother she opened her eyes.  She couldn’t help smiling as her mother finished the story.    
  
“Are you sure you’ll be alright getting back?” her mother was whispering.    
  
Hermione was startled slightly realising that she must have fallen asleep.  Severus was finishing buttoning his coat and then accepted her cloak from her father.  Looking at them through bleary eyes, she could tell that they liked him.  Somehow, her parents were comfortable with the man before them.  That thought didn’t alarm or disturb her as much as it probably should have.  
  
“Hermione,” Severus was suddenly over her, helping her up.    
  
The rest of the night passed in a blur for her.  She remembered kissing her parents good night, good morning really, and wishing them a happy Christmas.  Daniel got them back to Hogwarts, though she barely remembered the journey.  She did remember thanking Severus and wishing him a happy Christmas too.  When she finally climbed into bed, it was with the strong feeling of being loved, warm, and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I do hope some of the more Slytherin readers are guessing at Snape's thought processes now. Because he's been doing a helluva lot that our lioness hasn't caught in these last two chapters. Which will unfortunately hit her like a minor bomb soon. Like possibly next chapter soon. 
> 
> I do hope everyone liked my Grangers! I do like her parents and, even though just "boring" dentists as JKR has said, wouldn't everyone have liked to know what getting a sudden witch child would have done to their home life?? Could be just me.


	30. Cirrosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how does a Slytherin confess his love?

_“The love, born of beauty was not mine; I had nothing in common with it: I could not dare to meddle with it, but another love, venturing diffidently into life after long acquaintance, furnace-tried by pain, stamped by constancy, consolidated by affection’s pure and durable alloy, submitted by intellect to intellect’s own tests, and finally wrought up, by his own process, to his own unflawed completeness, this Love that laughed at Passion, his fast frenzies and his hot and hurried extinction, in this Love I had a vested interest; and whatever tended either to its culture or its destruction, I could not view impassibly.” ~ Villete_  


  


When Hermione woke, it was like trying to pull herself from the best of dreams.  As she blinked bleary eyes at the strong sunlight streaming through the magical window, she felt a stirring of panic that chased away the remainders of whatever the dream had been.  

“Da-” Hermione coughed the remaining sleepiness from her throat and tried again, “Daniel.”

The house elf appeared in front of her with a quiet  _ pop _ , still wearing an absurd amount of tinsel dangling from his ears and a big grin on his face.  He looked up at her with such a jubilant expression that Hermione briefly wondered if something miraculous had been happening elsewhere in the castle that she didn’t have any idea about.

“What time is it?” she asked, sitting up fully and rubbing sleep from her eyes.  

“Half past nine, Miss,” the house elf squeaked, not losing his happy momentum in the least.

“Blast it,” Hermione said, throwing her dressing gown on over her pajamas and slipping on the deliciously soft slippers.  “Is Severus up already?”

“Yes, Miss,” the house elf said as Hermione bent down to look for the wrapped packages under her bed.  “But the Headmaster is not yet leaving his room, Miss. Daniel thinks he is waiting, Miss.”

“Where--” Hermione began to ask but stopped and asked instead,  “Waiting?”

“For you, Miss!” the elf supplied and for some reason that made Hermione blush to the roots of her hair.

There was a lot that she still had to discuss with him, certain things from the night before, but she couldn’t help a rather giddy grin from spreading over her face.  It took several minutes for her to come back to herself. It didn’t matter if he had got on well with her parents, or that he had made sure that she had seen them Christmas Eve.  What mattered… Hermione shook herself.  What mattered was that her gifts were missing.

“Where did the gifts go, Daniel?” Hermione asked finally.

Daniel looked a bit nervous, which scared her until he simply pointed at the door out into the common room and then disappeared quickly.  Hermione bit her lip.  She was torn.  Should she dress?  Typically she didn’t leave her pajamas Christmas morning, but this was a bit unusual.  And she had made him wait long enough already.  Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she checked her hair in the mirror, refreshing the plait so the few escaped strands were back in place, and left her room.

Sure enough, beneath the tree were the two gifts that she had purchased, still wrapped.  There was also a small pile of other gifts as well.  As Hermione drew closer to examine them, she heard a door opening behind her.  Looking back, she saw Severus framed in the doorway, evidently startled slightly by her, doubtless to him, unkempt appearance.  He paused before he seemed to rouse himself to action.

“Happy Christmas, then,” he murmured before taking his seat, his black eyes now avoiding hers.

Severus seated himself in his usual chair, his normal carafe and cup appearing as he adjusted his seat.  Apparently the need to stay comfortable Christmas morning was not a concept that he was familiar with.  He was still in his customary black trousers and black cravat, but had at least left off the overlayers.  She supposed the white shirt was actually casual for him.  Suddenly she gasped, completely ignoring the gifts and nearly ran to the table after she saw food plates appear.

“How is that?  Is that my-?” Hermione couldn't finish.  An snort to her left shook her concentration.

“I believe I was correct in my belief that surprises render you speechless.  I will endeavor to do it as much as possible,” Severus said with an amused smirk.  “I did have a devil of a time convincing our esteemed elf to plate it for us though.  I believe he was as insulted as he could be when I first showed him.”

Hermione neared the Christmas cake that had caught her attention.  At first she had thought it coincidence, but nothing like it had ever been made before at Hogwarts.  And it was a little too imperfect.  The icing wasn't perfectly distributed and there was a small crack in the dough that had happened while baking.

<  
“It was the only time we were allowed cake for breakfast,” Hermione said with a smile because there was no longer a doubt that this was indeed her Mum's cake.  And with what Severus had said, he had conspired to get it here.

“Don’t get sentimental. Just eat the damn thing,” Severus said, trying, but not completely succeeding, to look disgusted.  “And for all our sake’s eat some of the house elf’s making too.”

Hermione just grinned and did as he said.  It wasn’t until she had had a helping of eggs and two slices of her mother’s apple and raisin cake that she realized that Severus wasn’t going to be eating at all.  Judging by the distant and nearly vacant expression on his face, coupled with not having said anything at all, she guessed that he was thinking exceptionally hard about something.

“So did you open gifts Christmas morning every year? Or the night before?  I’m sorry I was so tired last night,”Hermione said, making him look up.  A flash of nerves so strong that it turned the cake in her stomach hit her.

“As it pleases you,” Severus said, making a casual gesture towards the packages under the tree.

If she didn’t feel the nerves so powerfully in her stomach, Hermione might have thought that he didn’t care one way or the other.  Knowing that it bothered him so strongly, though, she elected to begin now and spare him the further anxiety.  Though if she was being honest with herself she thought as she stood, she also really wanted him to open his present. 

Scooping up the lot, Hermione deposited the pile on the table.  Taking her box that she had wrapped in shiny green paper with a silver ribbon she deposited it in front of him.

“I hope you like it,” she said, her own nerves dancing to mingle with the ones that she was sure were his. 

Clearing his throat, Severus dabbed quickly at his mouth with his napkin and stood, walking quickly to the small pile.  Picking up a small, wrapped rectangle, he turned and handed it to her.  He nodded at her before going back to his seat and taking it.  Hermione held hers with an almost giddy satisfaction as she looked at him.

“Oh, open it,” Severus growled at her, drawing his gift onto his lap, the bites of anger nearly hiding his discomfort with the whole enterprise.

Grinning, Hermione gave in to a very childish impulse and slid a plate back and sat on top of the table near the remaining packages with a grin.  Turning to his gift for her, she started opening it, before she realized that he was staring.

“Only fair,” she said, flapping a hand at him.  “Open yours, I promise it won't bite.”

Then, trusting him to do it, Hermione turned back to unwrapping her book, for a book it was.  As she let the paper fall to the floor, she gently traced the worn silver letters of the title embossing the cover.  _ Cirrosen.   _ She had never heard of it.  Turning it over in her hands, she marveled at the weight and age of the book in her hands.  It was easily an antique.  Tracing the spine, she felt the tickles of repairing spells having been used.  Nothing on the back or the cover hinted at the contents of the pages.  Very curious to know the age of the book now, she gently opened the cover, caressing the aged pages.  Seeing the writing on the first page, she barely suppressed a gasp as she read the words written there in slightly faded ink.

_ To my Darling Eileen, _

_ May this book give you the enjoyment it gave me at your age. _

_ Love, Mother. _

Swallowing hard, Hermione tried to keep the shock off her face, but knew she was probably failing.  This had been his mother's book.  Gently she turned more pages, to discover the book's publication date.  This had been the second edition, published in 1916.  One of the illustrations was a black and white print of a large manor house through a wrought iron gate that had a description beneath it that read: Gratia’s first glimpse of the imposing manor, Cirrosen.  Finally, she let herself look up, realizing that she had been too far in the book and had been impolite.

“It's wonderful,” Hermione said, rubbing the cover without realizing as she looked up at him.  “Thank you.  I… I don't know what else to- thank you.  Thank you.”

Severus had surprised her again.  She was disappointed to realize that what he had said was true, surprises stole her words.  She hugged the book to her chest, for some reason fighting tears.  Shaking herself, she realized that he had stopped opening his gift to watch her.  Still slightly speechless, she gestured for him to continue.

He was hesitant in a way that she had never seen him before, breaking the seal of the tape and peeling back the paper almost as if afraid to rip it as he should have done.  Almost as soon as his eyebrows rose at seeing what the box contained, Hermione was off, her speechlessness cured.

“I hope you like it.  The small box has different samplings of coffee from around the world.  The Arabian one is quite good.  And the Italian blend.  And the french press is actually spelled.  There’s a spelled dial at the bottom so you can set the preferred temperature and it will hold the coffee there until you pour it out.  I know you have Daniel who knows your preferences, but I thought, you know, when you aren’t living here any-”

“Hermione,” Severus said.  “Be quiet.”

Hermione closed her mouth with a snap.  Now that she wasn’t babbling non-stop, she actually looked at his face.  The impassive look he was giving his present would have made anyone think that he didn’t like it, or even that he thought it disgusting or beneath him.  Now though, knowing him as she did, she could feel the chaos of emotions roiling through her that he was trying to hide, and she could only smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” Hermione said, still holding his mother’s book tightly to her chest, still smiling.

Nodding, Severus began unpacking his gift, lining up the box’s contents as precisely as he did potions ingredients.  Halfway through lining up the bags of coffee beans, he shook himself, looking up.  

“Those are from your parents,” he said stiffly.  “They asked me to pass them along.”

“Not all of them,” Hermione said with a smile, holding another small, green paper package aloft to Severus’s apart alarm.  “This one is for Daniel.”

After Daniel appeared and accepted his gift, only after assurances that it did not contain clothing of any sort, Hermione was able to settle and enjoy her Christmas morning.  Daniel had been thrilled with his kitchen towel, chosen by Hermione, especially because of the cheery Christmas colors that matched his Headmaster’s house.  And Severus, Hermione peeked up at him from her place on the sofa.  He was still reading diligently every line about the origin and flavor of each coffee she had bought him.  

Crooks was purring in a contented ball with his new cat toy.  Her parents had gifted her with a beautiful gold necklace with such a delicate chain that she felt shaky doing the clasp.  On it hung a very delicate charm of a gold-framed emerald.  Apparently they had taken her at her word that her presents didn’t have to be continuously in Gryffindor colors when she complained in front of them of all the reds in her gift pile that she received from friends.  Included were also two books, one about the town the were living in that was a combination of a history book and a tourist guide, and another that was an adventure novel about a woman who could travel in time.  One that was probably too appropriate at the given moment. 

Hermione snuggled further into the couch with her new book propped on her legs.   _ Cirrosen _ was just up her alley.  As it turned out, it was the wizarding world’s equivalent of a Gothic novel.  The protagonist was a witch named Gratia who was on the run from a group of wizards.  She was a full chapter in and the reason was still not revealed.  She read steadily until lunch.  

Gratia answered an advertisement for a witch with housekeeping skills at the legendary mansion Cirrosen, reputed for the powerful wizard who lived there that no one had seen for over ten years.  She interviewed and was hired, though with the strict understanding that she was not to trespass in the west wing.  Here she had giggled.  It was always the west wing.  The time passed so quickly as an uneasy friendship began developing between Gratia and Corvus, the wizard, that she didn’t realize it was lunch until a very pointed throat-clearing made her look up.

Severus stood over her.  Crookshanks chose that moment to stand, the stuffed mouse dangling in his mouth, and jump down, rubbing Severus’s legs as he passed.  He looked in a pointed direction towards the table and Hermione rose, reluctantly parting with her book.

“It’s very good,” Hermione said over her plate to him.  “I’m not much acquainted with wizarding fiction.”

“I thought not,” Severus said stiffly.  Hermione couldn't tell whether or not he was uncomfortable with the idea of her reading it or that maybe now he was regretting his choice to give her a family heirloom.  All she knew was that the level of discomfort emanating from him didn't seem normal,even for him.

“When did you first read it?” Hermione asked curiously, hoping that maybe getting him talking would help him.  “You have read it?”

“I am not in the habit of passing along books that I have not read,” Severus said, completely ignoring the first question, his voice once again full of the scorn and derision that had not been present for months.

Hermione did what she had learned to do months ago.  She became quiet and thought.  There was enough information available that she knew at least that his home life hadn’t been pleasant with a tyrannical Muggle father.  She had a very good guess that magic in his house had been forbidden.  So finding out he had been a wizard may have been similar to her own experience.

“Dumbledore actually left us things in his will,” Hermione began hesitantly, trying to phrase what she wanted to convey perfectly so that he would be comfortable opening up.  “Ron got the Deluminator and Harry got his snitch.  He left me a book.”

Risking a peek up, she saw Severus had a slightly bored look.  He had sat back in his chair, his entire body language saying that he didn't care one way or the other if she continued speaking.  She hadn't seen it in a long time, but she knew what it meant.  He was hiding how closely he was paying attention.  She looked away.

“Ron was surprised.  It was a book of tales by Beetle the Bard but Harry and I hadn't heard of him.  Though being raised by Muggles, it wasn't really surprising.  It was  _ Matilda _ for me that made the crazy things I could do seem normal,” Hermione said.  “Though it was the Ministry official that explained things to my parents that made things make perfect sense.”

Risking a glance up at his face again, Hermione saw his mouth twitch upward in a small smile before it disappeared.

“My mother didn't use magic,” Severus said quietly.  “I'm not certain if she was hoping for a Squib or not, but she certainly denied every sign until it was impossible to deny any longer,” a muscle under his eye twitched, “And then a letter arrived from Hogwarts.  During the summers, all of my school books were locked away.   _ Cirrosen _ was one of the few that were deemed non-threatening.”

So many unsaid things, Hermione thought, with a heart pang for the younger Severus.  She didn't think that he would appreciate the sentiment from her though. It smacked too much of pity.  She had many complicated feelings for the man in front of her, but none of them were pity.

“I'm shocked and appalled,” Hermione said, laying on the sarcasm thick.  “Severus Snape didn't memorize his textbooks before term began?”

“Not until later,” Severus said, the half-smile had returned to stay now.  “When I learned to duplicate books and to find places to spell them away.”

“You!”  Hermione began, irritated and shocked before she realized and sighed.  “Unfair.  Of course, your mother being a witch meant you could practice.  If she didn’t care or didn’t catch you I suppose.”

After lunch, Hermione tucked back in with her new book.  No matter how hard she had tried, she hadn't solved what had been bothering him.  He had excused himself after lunch and had disappeared into the potions lab, leaving her alone with a purring furball.

The story just got better.  It was slightly predictable in the Gothic elements, but from a Muggleborn’s standpoint it was fascinating watching characters talking about and performing spells that were now a part of her daily life in a novel form.  Gratia became increasingly curious about the west wing, and yet increasingly anxious about her Secret that she couldn’t admit to Corvus.  They seemed drawn to each other, and yet it seemed that Corvus was still holding something back.  And of course the reader knew that Gratia was.   Just when they had become comfortable, the owl came.  Three simple words that shook their world apart.  

_ Return it.  You have two weeks. _

“Enjoying yourself?”

Hermione jumped so hard that she nearly turned the book off her lap and onto the floor.  She glared up at him with mock indignation.

“I was about to get some answers to some of these mysteries,” Hermione said, still trying to glare, but not managing it. 

Severus was still looking dreadful which, for it being Christmas, seemed still perplexing.  She couldn't think of anything that could have unnerved him so much.  Closing the book carefully around her finger, she thought back.  Well, he might have been anticipating a reprisal for the university comments he had made last night.  To be honest, she had all but forgot even though she had been unnaturally furious before.

“She's gotten to the west wing then?” He asked, almost indifferently, before she could say anything.

“Her mystery, not his.  The owl just arrived for her,” Hermione said, before grinning conspiratorially at him.  “Would you tell me if I guessed what he had in there?”

“No,” he said firmly.  “Dinner is in thirty minutes.  Daniel thought I should tell you.”

Severus then turned and marched smartly from the room, his bedroom door closing behind him.  Hermione did not understand it.  Rising, she got a bit of parchment to mark her place before going into her own room.  She had spent the day in pajamas, but she wouldn't embarrass her parents, in France though they were, by staying in them for dinner.  As she showered quickly, she racked her brain for any explanation for his tense behavior and stilted conversation.  She could find none.  

Perhaps it was simply he didn't like Christmas.  She knew Harry hadn't attached any significance to the holiday until after the Battle of Hogwarts.  Even then it had been like learning a new custom.  Getting a tissue as a birthday present.  Hermione snarled as she toweled off.  She could have joyfully thrashed his aunt and uncle for that.  Who did that to a child?

When she rejoined Severus, dressed now in a cheery green jumper and jeans, she resolved to not say anything.  If he was content with being in a snit, so be it.  So long as he wasn't going to be taking it out on her.

They passed the meal in near silence.  He did manage to fully thank her finally for her gift, including that he had tried the Arabian blend and liked it very well.  She had been relieved.  Hopefully this meant that she hadn't brought on the mood.  When he bid her goodnight, she curled back up with her book.

As it turned out, Gratia had stolen an artifact of considerable power from her uncle.  Even though it was hers by right of her mother willing it to her, it had made her the target of some very powerful dark wizards intent on having it after she had taken it from his study.  When the whole story had come out, Corvus finally decided to confess to his own secret.

“Wife in the attic, definitely wife in the attic,” Hermione murmured to herself, pausing between the pages only to note the time, half past ten at night, when Crookshanks gave up on her to put himself to bed.

As it turned out, the experimental magic and power of  _ Cirrosen _ had been completely deserved.  Corvus and his wife had been experimenting with traveling through mirrors. Unfortunately it hadn’t worked.  His wife was now stuck, trapped, in a mirror in the west wing and had been for ten years.  The magic that they discussed was dizzying.  They spoke about wards and travel and experiments and Hermione thought Gratia kept up almost too well, but either way it was wonderful.  

Finally, the artifact came into play.  As it turned out, the necklace, which was what Gratia had taken from her uncle, hadn’t been useful to her uncle because it needed a witch, not a wizard, to share power.  Gratia managed to erect a ward around her and the mirror, and acting almost purely on instinct from the necklace, walked to the mirror, matching the woman both of their palms meeting at the same moment.  As Corvus’s wife was pulled through, she became like a ghost, before disappearing completely.

Hermione thought it was stretching the magic theory a bit, but, miraculously, his wife was now a fetus inside of Gratia.  Suspending her disbelief, she kept reading.  Over the two weeks, Corvus seemed more familiar,more at ease.  The friendship seemed to grow into something more as they discussed how he would help protect her from her uncle and his friends.  They decided that they would lure them in.  In to Cirrosen.  Where they would finish it.  Finally there was the tense scene.  The morning before the trap.  Hermione could feel the tension between them as Gratia clung to his hands, terrified.  Terrified because he might be hurt and she was only realizing how much she cared for the man beside her.

_ “We will survive  this,” Corvus whispered to me, low as if in a secret for my ears alone. _

_ I looked away.  Knowing that I loved him, knowing that I had loved him since I had truly come to know him, it was too much.  I could not face putting him in harm’s way, and yet he would not be stopped.  His hands tightened almost painfully around my own.  His blue eyes were almost frantic in their zeal for me to see, to understand. _

_ “If you can trust me, we will.  That I promise,” he whispered, as if we were not already alone.  His hands tightened once more around mine. _

_ My lips parted to speak, to protest once more, to plead for him to leave before my uncle arrived.  But before I could utter a word, he released my hands and instead cupped my face.  I felt so small in his hands.  I watched the change in his eyes as he leaned forward and laid a tentative brush of his lips against mine. _

_ “Gratia,” he whispered my first name for the first time against my lips like a prayer,  “I have dreamed of being free to-” _

Hermione stopped reading in the middle of his confession.  Her mind was reeling.  She couldn’t have… It wasn’t possible.  She re-read the lines.

_ We will survive this….If you can trust me, we will.  That I promise. _

The bottom of her stomach dropped out and she had to gently, purposefully, put the book down or she would have dropped it.  Her hands were shaking.  And just after that, they had kissed, with confessions of love.  Her heart was pounding terribly as she looked back at Severus’s door.  It was nearly one in the morning, but she doubted he was sleeping.  Not if he thought she might get to this point.  She stood up, her knees shaky.  Trying desperately not to think, not to think at all, she practically staggered to her bedroom, her mind reeling.

Hermione shed her jeans and jumper, leaving them on the floor, climbing in her bed in just her tank and underwear.  Changing into pajamas would use more brainpower than she possessed just now.  Pulling her knees up under the covers, she rocked herself, trying to settle the butterflies in her stomach.  She remembered.  

Severus had said that to her.  He had said it perfectly, clearly, in a moment that she wouldn’t have forgotten.  Her heart pounded unnaturally hard against her ribs as she panicked.  What was she going to do?  How would she face him now?  He had confessed feelings for her in the most Slytherin way possible.  She could ignore it completely.  Could pretend not to have remembered.  

Hermione pressed her forehead tightly against her knees.  The ball was in her chaser’s hand now.  Had she just made a Quidditch reference?  She hated herself.  She hadn’t been even within fifty feet of Ron now for nearly nine months.  Nine months?  She couldn’t deny it.  She had had a crush.  But now it was dangerously close to a relationship.  And now, now she knew he felt the same way.  

What was she going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shockingly ( perhaps), this is the chapter that gave me the most anxiety. Still desperately trying to keep Severus in character while moving them forward in the slowest of ever slow burns, BUT! This is the end of December dear readers! And poor Hermione only has a few months left.... Or does she?


	31. The Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who are worried about Severus... I will only say that I love happy endings.

_ "Amor, tosse, e fumo, malamente si nascondono." ~ Italian proverb _

The next morning, Hermione didn't want to wake up.  It was more than weariness, more than anything physical that made her incapable of moving.  Holding her hands tightly under her chin as she was curled up on her side, she truly felt the lack of her engagement ring for the first time in awhile.  For the first time, she wanted Ron here for a completely different reason.  If only she could talk to him, tell him, explain to him what had happened, maybe she might feel free to…

“To what?” she whispered to the empty room.  “Free to what?”

Shutting her eyes, Hermione curled even more tightly in on herself under the covers.  Like it or not, the relationship that had grown out of nearly a lifelong crush that bordered on infatuation had died, at least in her heart.  Whether she saw Ron face to face or not, it didn't matter.  It was an  inevitable consequence of this universe.  A universe where Severus hadn't died and she had had the chance to truly know him.  To appreciate him.  To… Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly as if to ward of the words that came unbidden to her mind.  Try as she might, she couldn't deny it.  She had fallen for him.  And knowing that he felt the same… She couldn't deny it, not to herself, not anymore.

She had fallen for Severus Snape. Former Headmaster.  Former Potions Professor.  Former Death Eater. Former spy for the Order.  Though that wasn't entirely true.

Finally making herself move, Hermione slipped out of bed with a shiver and into her dressing gown.  She hadn't fallen for any of that.  She had fallen for a capable, brilliant man.  One who had made horrible mistakes and had spent half his life and nearly his death trying to remedy them.  A man who was still struggling with finding a place in the world.  One who appreciated Muggle and wizarding books.  One who found struggles of the mind something to relish and not be repulsed by.  Hermione thunked her head hard into the wardrobe.  And of course a man who could recite Psalms from the Bible and make it sound like sin.

Then there was her parents, Hermione considered, pulling on her jeans.  They had liked him, been comfortable around him.  Severus!  A man who probably didn't have a social bone in his body had somehow charmed her parents.  She paused in putting on her left sock.  No, he wouldn't have used magic on them.  He had just been charming.  He had made them feel as if the Muggle world was the real one and the wizarding world was the “other”.  Hell, he had actually…

“Merlin's pants!” Hermione yelled, none too quietly.

Realising now that the entire evening had been the epitome of Slytherin planning, from getting her there to discussing universities, had all been an elaborate ploy to get them to  _ like _ him, to  _ prefer _ him even over Ron!  Hermione thought of every considering look that her mother had given her the entire evening and the fury from Christmas Eve came rushing back.  Suddenly, her anger that night didn't seem unjustified at all!  He had been planning it!

Slamming her feet into slippers, Hermione charged out into their common room.  The sight of him, the French press nearly empty, rolls on a plate, and parchment held up near his face almost stopped her.  He lowered it with a condescending eyebrow raise, stirring her anger up once more.

“Dare I ask who is responsible for the fury that nearly put me off my breakfast?” Severus asked in his most bored tone.

“You, you planned it,” Hermione sputtered with less than her usual grace.

Severus froze.  But for the small muscle that twitched under his right eye, she would have thought he had been put in a Body Bind.

“I'm sure I have no idea of what you mean,” he said, recovering seconds later and heaping the sarcasm and condescension on a bit thick.  “Though it would be difficult to say due to the severe lack of anything remotely specific being mentioned.”

“With my parents,” Hermione said, watching him relax a marginal amount, but not losing momentum whatsoever.  “You went in with a plan to win them over.  University?  Really?  You knew that they would lap that up.  Were you trying to put my job down or my relationship with Ron?”

“You must think so meanly of me that I would stoop to such base tactics,” Severus drawled, somehow more confident and comfortable than he had been just moments ago, actually lounging back in the stiff chair.  “But of course, I have enough confidence in your intelligence to know that you wouldn’t say such accusations unless you had grounds.  Do tell.  What are your reasons?”

Hermione gaped and then shut her mouth. She had been ready to accuse him, but he had just now baldly not denied either of her accusations now.  She wasn’t sure what she would do if he sat there and didn’t refute that he was trying to win her over from Ron.  Shaking her head, Hermione tried to smother the smile that was threatening to grow as she looked away.  Just seconds ago she had been so angry she had seen stars, and now all she could do was smile at his gall.   


Her eyes saw the book that she had left on the sofa and the smile faded slightly, to wistfulness rather than sadness.  It sat there, his confession, an unobtrusive and yet all consuming presence.

“I haven’t finished it yet,” Hermione said quietly.  “Do they make it?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Severus said quietly, though his voice sounded harsh, unpracticed, and nothing like his normal silky tones.

Swallowing hard, Hermione didn’t even look at her breakfast and simply went back to the sofa, curled up with the book and continued to read.  It was difficult to focus.  Every few lines, she was distracted by the message.  She didn’t take the analogy any further than the one line, but what it meant was always seconds from her mind.  Yes, she knew Ron would be there if she survived this, but she wasn’t sure if she was going to survive.

Giving up the pretense of reading, Hermione’s eyes stared blankly at the page in front of her, not taking in any of the words.  What would that do to him?  It was nearly January.  She had been living in the same timeline as her past self for now nearly six months.  That meant she had maybe three months left if Luna’s premise and her calculations had been correct.

Suddenly, her death didn’t seem like the most important thing about her fighting Time.  If she didn’t survive, what would that do to Severus?  Her heart clenched painfully and she felt sick.  She now regretted every ounce of familiarity, every glance, every touch, every moment that she had shared with him that had let him think that there could be more.  The words on the pages in front of her blurred as tears rose in her eyes.  One woman that he had loved had already died when he had tried so hard to save her and it had nearly killed him.  Had made him want to die.  What would her death do?

“If you have a moment, I will be downstairs,” Severus said from the doorway to her room.   


Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice, desperately holding the tears so they didn’t fall.  She wouldn’t tell him.  As the black shape moved from her peripheral vision, she held that as a tight resolve.  She knew, knew deep in her heart, that if she died and he knew that she loved him back, it would make it so much worse for him.  Because it had been saving him that had caused this to happen.   


Tears finally won as they trailed down her cheeks.  Hermione wiped at them hastily.  The tears weren’t for her anymore.  They were for him.  The heartbreak that her death would cause.  Because more than herself now, she wanted him to survive.  Perhaps it had always been this.  She didn’t want to die, of course she didn’t.  But she did want him to live.  She wanted it so badly.  Closing the book, she set it aside and drew her legs to her chest so she could hide her face in her knees.  More than his life though, she wanted his happiness. 

Cold determination settled deep inside her.  Hermione raised her head, setting her chin on her knees.  Unless she knew she would survive, she would not tell him that she remembered what he had said to her last week.  She would pretend that she didn’t understand that he had used Corvus’s words to confess to Gratia to confess his own feelings for her.  And more than anything, she would not tell him she felt the same way.  More than ever, she was now determined to help him find his own path now in this life she had given him.   


Down in the lab, they very carefully didn’t discuss anything more to do with Christmas.  He merely asked her once if she’d finished the book and she told him that she had not.  Then they got to work.  Polyjuice was once again brewing and they began discussing how they could set spells around her to alert to blinks in her magic.  They worked through lunch, but, by mutual agreement, decided on an early dinner.  Hermione was nearly to the stairs when a voice froze her.

“Hermione,” Severus said quietly and the softness, the careful tone, did something to her.  There was an element of vulnerability that tore through her and broke her heart, even as she hardened herself and turned back to him.  “Do tell me what you think.  I would like your honest opinion of it.  When you’re finished.”

Hermione gave him a smile that was definitely strained at the edges as she nodded.  She finished the stairs at a trot.  Mindlessly, she grabbed fresh clothes that didn’t smell of potions ingredients and locked herself in the bathroom.  Showering quickly, she tried to think of anything, anything that wasn’t Severus, but everything she thought of led to him.  Her future was full of uncertainty now, but she wanted it full of him.  How had she become this?  How had it become so all-encompassing?  It had come on so gradually that she didn’t know what to do now that it was threatening to consume them both.   


As she shut off the water, Hermione heard a door close on her side and assumed that Severus had closed her bedroom door.  Toweling off her hair as best she could, she braided the rest.  Opening the door, she looked at the closed door to the common room as her heart panged again.  It seemed that Severus wasn’t going to let her ignore it.  Then her eyes caught the dressing table.  There glittered a small gold band with a sparkling red stone.

Hermione cried out, running for it, grabbing it and turning it over and over again in her fingers.  The joy at having it back ended almost as soon as it began.  Slowly lowering herself to her chair, she fought more tears as the threatened to rise again.  Ron.  She had a letter explaining to Ron.  He’d be alright.  But…

“Daniel,” Hermione whispered, suddenly panicked as she looked between the door and the newly found ring.

The house elf appeared with a ‘crack’ at her side.  He was so proud of himself, practically bouncing on his toes as he looked at her, the towel she had given him at Christmas proudly displayed hanging from a rope belt he had tied at his waist.  Then the elf’s face fell as he looked at her.

“What is wrong, Miss?” Daniel asked.  “Daniel was thinking that finding the ring would make you happy!”

“Daniel, when did you put this here?” Hermione asked.

“Almost now Miss!  Daniel is only now being able…”

“ _ When _ ?” she asked again, interrupting him.  “Was the bedroom door open or closed?  Where was Severus when you put the ring on my table?”

The elf looked distressed as he answered, “The Headmaster was down the stairs, Miss! Miss was in the shower, but Daniel thought it would be a nice surprise for- Oh please, Miss Granger!  Please!  Do not cry!  Please!”

“It’s,” Hermione hastily wiped at her eyes, “It’s alright Daniel, I’m sorry.  Truly.  I’m very grateful you found the ring.  I am.  Would you be able to serve dinner in ten minutes?”

The elf looked relieved, which is what she had been hoping for.  She didn’t want him thinking too much about her terrible reaction to his helping her.  It did terrible things for house elves.  He disappeared and she finally gave in to tears that had been threatening.  She put her head in her arms and cried.  She couldn’t say for certain why, only that it felt like her heart was breaking.  She wept silently, almost calmly, more a pressure release than sorrow.   


Severus had seen the ring on the dressing table.  It meant that he had seen that she had the ring and that he would think that she had deliberately chosen not to wear it.  He would doubtlessly also draw conclusions about leaving it out in the open when she knew that he would walk by.  Looking into the mirror, Hermione wiped her face.  So much for ignoring him or not giving him any false hope.  She cast a quick refreshing charm on her face that eliminated the red and puffiness of her eyes.  Looking back at the ring, she very firmly put it back on the table.  She couldn’t put it on now.  She just couldn’t.  Hoping for the best, she went for dinner.

The meal went smoothly.  Severus seemed calmer.  Both the irritability that had persisted since giving her  _ Cirrosen _ and the strange vulnerability were all but gone.

“I should have confirmation by the time the Polyjuice is ready if we’ll be able to have our outside help,” Severus said after they finished eating.

“You never did say who that would be,” Hermione said.

“I mentioned Lucia Fornetti before, yes?” Severus asked and Hermione stiffened slightly.  “Certain aspects of the case would doubtlessly fascinate her.  Anyway, publishing those articles did more than simply lay a trail for you to follow.  Ifanis Princeps,” he sneered a bit, “is just the type of person would seek out or be sought out by her.”

The next weeks passed quickly.  They had only once remarked on the new year when they had worked straight through midnight that night.  They had their alert spell ready, though they wouldn’t be able to test its effectiveness until the next attack occurred.  She didn’t remember any really, only another when she had been with Ginny and the one when she had met with the Healers.  That had been April, though, early April.  She had no guarantees that it was because she had survived that long.   


Of  _ Cirrrosen, _ they didn’t speak at all.  Hermione hadn’t finished it.  She let herself be lost in the work, but Severus seemed to not care that she had abandoned his gift.  He had almost seemed content, even happy, about it which baffled her.

Hermione was also beginning to strongly dislike a woman she hadn’t ever met.  Severus seemed to be talking more and more about her, which was irritating the hell out of her.  The spikes of jealousy didn’t become an adult woman and he hadn’t even given her anything to be jealous  _ about _ .  But by the time of the actual meeting, Hermione was strongly predisposed to dislike her.

“Time to go,” Severus said, adjusting his cloak over his midnight blue robes.  They flattered his new blonde, close cut hair, pale skin and pale blue eyes.

Daniel disappeared with them and reappeared in a wide piazza before leaving.  Hermione looked around, dazed.  She hadn’t thought it possible to Apparate this far.

“This is really Italy?” she asked, dazed.

“Certo,” Severus replied. The smirk looking out of his new face was out of place, but where it had been unnerving before, it was comforting now. She was sure now that she would recognize him no matter the face he wore.  A stab of joy-pain shot through her at the thought. She turned away.

Together they crossed the large piazza and climbed the marble stairs to a large building on the opposite side of the square.  Two large, stone, winged lions framed the doorway.  Between them, Severus paused, not even attempting to touch the door.

“Voi come vi chiamate?” the lion on the left asked in a deep, growling baritone.

“Ifanis Princeps,” Severus said without hesitation.  “And guest.”

“Prego,” the lions said in unison and the doors swung open and into a wide circular room on the ground floor.   


More marble covered the floor.  There were three desks, to the north, east, and west.  Behind the north desk, Hermione could see gates for a lift.  Severus was following a pulsing gold line that had appeared in the veined marble at their feet to the north desk.

“Ifanis Princeps?” the witch at the desk asked him.  At his nod, she looked over the parchment on her desk.  Drawing her wand, she tapped it then sent a glowing line behind her to the lift.  The gate rattled open.

“Prego,” she said with a smile.  “Signorina Fornetti sta aspettando per voi.”

“Grazie,” Severus said with a bow and a smile, moving past her.

“Aspetta,” the witch said, “E lei?  Scusami, signora, ma bisogno il tuo nome.”

Hermione looked to Severus, fairly certain that she was being asked her name, but not sure enough to answer.

“Gratia Corvus,” Severus answered for her smoothly.

“Bene, grazie, signori,” the witch said, waving them in.  “Prego, prego, signori.”

When the doors opened, they were on the sixth floor.  The entire room was a large workshop that held boards on stilts, covered with runes, markings, notes, equations, and some symbols that Hermione couldn’t identity, in addition to a small brewing station, several work tables, and bookshelves that lined nearly every wall.  Large windows filled the opposite wall with equally large drapes that Hermione was sure would plunge the world into complete darkness if necessary. All of this was interesting, but it was the witch in the center of the room that held her entire concentration.

The woman was in a strange crouch, her robes having been drawn up and tucked haphazardly into her belt so that one side revealed a bit of thigh and the other was nearly to her knee.  The robes themselves had chalk dust on the hem and knees from where she had evidently smudged lines that she had been drawing on the floor.  Her wand was tucked into her belt, alongside two phials, and a small pouch.

“Just a moment, please,” the woman said in heavily accented English.

The woman stood, hands on her hips, surveying her work on the floor.  They were several interconnecting circles, an outer circle made of smaller circles that had more intricate drawings in them.  She placed the chalk in the pouch at her waist, and then clapped several times, sending small clouds of dust into the air before wiping her hands on her robes.

“And what do you think?” she asked.

Severus drew closer, carefully not stepping on any of the lines, his hands clasped behind him.  Hermione saw a fine tremble in his fingers and her heart panged a bit as she approached with him.

“Attempting to duplicate the early travelers pre-Apparition?” Severus asked.

“Similar yes,” she replied, before shrugging.  “Eh, it was a good thought.  We will see.  Now, as to you, Signore Princeps, with what you wrote to me-”

The woman stopped.  Hermione was close enough to see her eyes meet Severus’s face.  For a moment, Hermione thought it was because she had thought Severus’s Polyjuiced form striking, or handsome.  When she saw her eyes widen, she knew it must be more.  Both of her hands came up to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, her eyes looking him up and down before immediately going back to his eyes.  She stumbled backwards, shaking her head, freeing the tears to travel down her cheeks.

“No,” she whispered, her hands on her chest now, silently crying.  “È impossibile.  Non è…Severus?”

“It is I,” he whispered in the stranger’s voice.   


Hermione felt like even more of an outsider.  She could have been back in Hogwarts, for all they either knew or cared.  Her heart clenched painfully and she looked away.  She couldn’t see whatever was coming next, whatever Severus had confessed to her before.  When she heard the glad cry, Hermione closed her eyes so she didn’t see her embrace him, before she forced herself to look.

The woman clung to him tightly, her arms around his waist and her head on his shoulder and she was struck by how tall she was.  She would probably be nearly as tall as Severus in his own skin.  She was mumbling into his shoulder, half in Italian, half in English, and nearly all incoherent.  Severus was saying other things too that Hermione couldn’t hear.  After a few minutes, she stepped back, wiping her still streaming eyes and looked at him.  Hermione saw the moment probably when Severus did and she flinched when her hand struck him across the face.

“You should have told me!” she yelled finally and then stamped her foot angrily. “Per amor del cielo!”

Her face dropped suddenly as she stared at him again.  Suddenly, she looked ashamed.  Then apologetic, and then surprised.  Hermione jumped when her eyes finally landed on her.

“Mi dispiace,” she whispered, now clearly addressing Hermione, wiping her hands again on her robes before offering one to her.  “My name is Lucia Fornetti.  I… I forgot myself.  I had not expected.”

Here Lucia’s eyes caught Severus’s again before she turned back and shook Hermione’s hand.  She grasped it warmly between hers and Hermione was struck momentarily by how pretty her eyes were, brown but with almost gold flecks, before her hand was released.

“You have brought a dear old friend back to me from death, Miss Granger,” Lucia said, “I will do whatever I possibly can to assist you.”

“How?”  Hermione sputtered, looking at Severus.

“I did say that she taught me skills in Occlumency, yes?” he asked her, and Hermione only now saw how wet his own eyes looked and was shocked to see that he had nearly cried.  “Lucia is a born Legilimens.  She was born a natural talent, though she’s gotten better.”

“You’re out of practice,” she said, drawing her wand and levitating one of the chalkboards over to them.

Hermione felt her stomach turn sickeningly thinking of all of the jealous feelings she had only just wrestled back, as she asked, “You can read minds that easily?”

“Untrained minds, yes,” Lucia said, looking at her.  “Believe me, it is not always a good thing.”

Lucia frowned a bit and Hermione looked away, flushed.  When she looked back up, Lucia was smiling at Severus and he was frowning.

“See?  Out of practice,” Lucia said and shocked Hermione by sticking her tongue out at him and then winking.  “Now.  To your problem.  Tell me everything that he hasn’t already.”


	32. A Wind on Embers

_ “ _ **_He desired her, that was all,” sneered Voldemort, “but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him -_ ** _ ” ~ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _

 

Hermione attempted to outline the problem that she had experienced, as well as the connection that had accidentally been formed from her direct interactions with his magic month ago.  Lucia took notes on one of her many chalk boards.  She had let down her robes so that they flowed around her ankles once more, but Hermione could see from the creases around them that tucking them in her belt was a common occurrence.

“And my designs worked?” Lucia asked as she tapped her lips with chalk, looking at the board thoughtfully.

“It helped,” Hermione said and Severus nodded when Lucia looked back at him.

“So until you know the cause, you must treat the effect,” Lucia said, looking at Hermione.  

Hermione very carefully avoided her eyes.  Now that she knew what she was, there was no way that she was letting Lucia meet her eyes again like that.  There was far too much at stake to risk confessing everything to his “old friend.”  She hated the bitter feeling that curdled in her stomach at the thought.

“So this must needs be,” Lucia said thoughtfully as her voice became more accented as she pondered and her words bled into Italian murmuring as she drew her wand and began to idly spin it through her fingers.  She paced, still spinning, oblivious to the trail of gold sparks that occasionally dripped from her wand’s tip.

“That is the answer!” Lucia said, turning to Severus with a smile.  “Simply cement the binding.”

“It didn’t fully work before,” Severus said.

Lucia clucked at him, her tone and voice playful as she said chidingly, “Come old friend, you must not be objecting?  Lei è bella, no?  Bellisima a te, ci credo.”

Lucia sidled closer to him with a coy smile, looking over her shoulder in Hermione’s direction before taking his hand, almost like she would lead him in a dance, “We had good times, did we not?  La mia tenebra, la mia notte?  She misses you too.”

Hermione saw how stiffly he held himself, though his hand was still holding hers.  The jealousy was enough to choke on now and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest.  She was ridiculously close to tapping her foot as anger came up to meet the jealousy.  Severus was glaring at the woman holding his hand as she stepped even further into his space, and she laughed.  It was low, suggestive, and held the secret weight of intimacy that was more than friends.

“If you’re not planning on helping us, then we’ll leave,” Hermione said, finally snapping.  “I’m sure that we can muddle through on our own, thanks.”

Lucia looked at her as if she was surprised and in her anger, Hermione realized that she had met the woman’s eyes with her glare. It was as if a switch had been thrown and Lucia gave herself a little shake and laugh, letting Severus’s hand go and drawing herself up to her full height, immediately the image of decorum and perfect breeding.

“You are quite right,” Lucia said, holding Hermione’s gaze.  Even the Italian accent had lessened in favor of a more British lilt.  “I do apologize for my behaviour.  Now, to work.  I’ll be only a moment.”

Watching the woman turn about and stride to the other end of the room, Hermione felt as if a windstorm had been tearing at her for hours but then decided at the last minute to leave her intact.  She looked at Severus who was watching her carefully for a reaction.  She looked away, still angry, still jealous, but not willing to admit either.  She walked away towards the windows.  When he came up beside her, she didn’t look at him.

“It is her way,” he whispered quietly.  

“Well she’s rude,” Hermione bit out, wishing her voice sounded a bit stronger than it was.

“We all survived in different ways,” Severus said, making her look up at him questioningly.

“Here,” Lucia had returned, a trail of books following her as if they were ducklings.  With a swish of her wand, they piled themselves on one of the worktables.  A cloud of dust rose from the table as they hit its surface.  “These are my sources.  I did mash them together a bit.  You also didn’t give me much time to work.”

The glare Lucia shot in Severus’s direction had no heat, in fact, the corners of her mouth were up in a small and quirky smile.  Suddenly, the emotions drained to something like sadness, and she looked down and away.  She sighed.

“I will, of course,” Lucia said.  “Though, in case you do not want to hear it all…”

Lucia walked over to the only blank wall in the entire place that was only a three foot wall span between bookshelves.  The only adornment was a long mirror beneath a clock.  Taking her wand, she traced the frame of the mirror and it shimmered and became transparent, revealing a nook with objects stacked inside.  Biting her wand, she reached in with both hands and pulled a box free that she tucked under an arm so that she could tap her wand to the frame, replacing the mirror once more.

“I saved things,” Lucia said, and Hermione heard real emotion in her voice, all the more real because she seemed determined to hide it.  “These were yours, c’era una volta…”

Severus took the box from her and disappeared along the rows of boards to the other side of the room, practically hidden from view.  Hermione felt the loss immediately, as she looked at the other woman staring after him.  She wanted to feel jealous again.  It was easier.  But, the way she was looking at him didn’t fit somehow.  Then Lucia turned to her and Hermione quickly looked away, back out the window.

“Flippancy was my shield,” the older woman said abruptly, making Hermione look at her without meaning to, but now she wasn’t trying to catch her eyes.  She was looking out the window as well.  “It made people look at me, but never see me.”

Lucia sighed, rubbed her eyes, and then folded her fingers behind her neck, “Voldemort came here with his lieutenants and Severus when he was only just seventeen.  Eighteen?  No matter.  He needed sponsoring and Voldemort needed pureblood support.  I was sixteen.”

Shuddering, Lucia closed her eyes as she continued, “He was evil.  So evil.  His thoughts were like physical taint.  The things he liked to do, they were always right there, in front of his mind.  He wanted to possess.  People, things, the world I think, they were all the same.  And then right behind him was Severus.”

“He was so angry at first,” Lucia said, almost wistful, “But it was anger born out of desperation and sorrow.  We were lonely souls trying to hide.  And he had to prove that he no longer wanted a girl his new master thought was beneath him.  I had to eventually marry someone I could never love.  We used each other to hide.  Me, mia tenebra, and Severus.”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel she was missing the point of the story.  It was as if Lucia was speaking, but not actually telling it how it needed to be told to be understood.  Finally, she turned to her and gold-hazel eyes met brown and Hermione was too surprised to look away.

“He loves you,” Lucia said abruptly and immediately Hermione felt all of the jealousy wash away and be replaced with fear as she thought of the danger she was in and why.  Just as immediately, she knew that the other woman had heard her thoughts.  “He never loved me.  We were each other’s protection, nothing more.  Intimate protection, dear friends, but not love, not like he loves you.  I do not think that he even loved  _ her _ like he loves you.”

Lucia took a deep breath and then looked away, “And for that reason, you will not die.  I will not allow it.  He has lost so much and given so much that he will not lose anymore.  I will not allow it.”

“You will not tell him,” Lucia said firmly, looking now back at Hermione and this time she let her meet her eyes.  “You will not tell him what you suspect and neither will I.  You will survive, by whatever means necessary.”

“You…” Hermione looked off to where Severus had disappeared too.  “You know about…"

“You feel that you will not make it.  That time will kill you and Severus will think it is his fault, that you gave your life for his,” Lucia said blandly.  She didn’t seem to need Hermione’s nod.  “And you love him.”

Hermione swallowed hard, shaking her head, in denial of something, but she didn’t know what.

“I know what it feels like in someone else’s head, my dear,”  Lucia said softly.  “You do not need to say it.  It simply is what it is.”

Lucia put a warm hand on her shoulder and Hermione closed her eyes.  “You should tell him.  I will not, but you should.  You are a survivor of war, as are we.  You know that it is never certain how long that we will be given.  Do not waste your time in doubt.”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed before she went on to the rest of the room towards where Severus had disappeared to with his mysterious box.  Feeling sick and apprehensive, Hermione turned back to once again look out the window.  It wasn’t until the sounds of debate grew louder that she turned around.  Both were already working without her, debating her interpretation of something Hermione had said.  Smiling slightly, she went to join them.

In between books, Hermione watched them as they worked.  Lucia had an ease that came from competence as she showed Severus her theories and research from old magical bindings and the most recent incarnations that were still sometimes used in Italian pureblood marriages.  It wasn’t the amount of intellect in the room that struck her, but the way they interacted.  It was the easy way that she touched him.  Just easy brushes that seemed completely subconscious and had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with who she was.  Hermione envied her that.  She couldn’t imagine being that comfortable with him, not yet.  And him?  He had flinched the first time, but he didn’t notice them any longer.

They broke only for a meal around two, Hermione’s head still full of new ideas and concepts.  The day passed quickly enough.  By the time the day had ended, Lucia had insisted they preserve their Polyjuice since her workroom was sufficiently warded and no one would enter without her knowledge or permission.  It had been then that Lucia insisted on watching them bind their magic.

“Here,” Lucia said, gesturing Hermione to the floor where she had drawn new chalk circles and then pointing Severus to the other side “You there.”

She maneuvered them both so they were in opposite ends of the triple infinity that she had drawn on the ground.   Tucking her robes up again a bit, she stepped into the center circle and then carefully knelt, taking care to keep any part of herself from touching the chalk on the ground.

“Now,” she took a deep breath, centering herself.  “You will sense my magic drawing yours this time.  There will be the same sensations as you felt before, but with the addition of heat for the signal spell.  Keep your mental walls down when I look at you.  Let the magic flow.”

It was all things they had been discussing for hours, but Hermione still felt apprehensive when she felt the spell begin.  Lucia looked at her and she met the hazel eyes as she felt the tug at her heart as her magic flew out to meet her at the center, a breeze moving her hair and robes, but contained only within the invisible walls that her chalk circle marked out.

It was unreal.  She knew the instant her magic met his, but there was no visual in her mind this time.  It made it hard to continue to let it happen to her and she wondered if Severus was also feeling the same vulnerability.  As soon as she thought it, her eyes met his over Lucia's head.  It was there, his fear, his uncertainty, but there was also something else.

Abruptly, the temperature dropped and Hermione shivered, hugging herself.  She looked down at Lucia.  She was murmuring something low and unintelligible, but Hermione thought she could make out Latin.  Her eyes were closed, concentrated, and the temperature dropped again, causing bumps to ripple across her skin, and Hermione shivered again, rubbing her hands up and down on her arms.  Afraid, she looked across to Severus, who was also shivering, but had actually freed the tie from around his neck and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

The breeze that was still flowing in her circle became even stronger as it started shipping her hair about, out of her plait.  Teeth chattering now, she hoped it would be over soon.  Across from her, she saw Severus beginning to look sick.

“Finite!” Lucia called and the temperature was immediately back to normal.

Gasping, Hermione stumbled out of the circle before falling to her knees.  Her whole body was trembling and she felt sick.  Looking up, exhausted as if she'd been running for an hour, Hermione saw Severus wiping his mouth and vanishing sick from the floor.

“Did it work?” Hermione asked shakily.

“Easy to tell,” Lucia said, placing her hands in the floor to get herself up and drawing her wand.

Directing it at Hermione, Lucia sent a jolt of magic streaking at her so quickly that she didn’t have time to flinch.  Shockingly, when the light hit her, she felt nothing, but Severus flinched.

“It’s worked,” Severus said hoarsely.  “Do restrain yourself ‘Cia.”

“I’ll try,” the woman said, almost breathlessly.  It seemed almost as if that brief display of magical ability had taxed her more than the entire experience within the circles.

Hermione found that by the end of day, she truly liked the other witch.  She was a bit louder and more animated than Hermione was used to, and had a physical ease with people that Hermione didn’t expect from near strangers, but she was surprised at how easily it endeared Hermione to her.  Lucia seemed incapable of not being honest with her whole being, almost as if she compensated for how easily she read other’s thoughts.  There had been moments where she had answered either Severus’s or her thoughts, but she corrected the mistake by voicing everything aloud for the party who hadn’t heard.  Most of all though, Hermione saw what Lucia had voiced before.  They hadn’t truly been in love and that, Hermione was loathe to admit, was what helped her like her most of all.

“Just minutes more Severus,” Lucia said, when they were finally making to leave.  “She will want to see you and she should be here in moments.”

Severus froze and Hermione watched him look down, a bit of cold seeming to trickle into his face and she could feel it in her own chest.  Lucia seemed to understand something that Hermione didn’t and she looked between the two of them in confusion.

“If you’re sure,” he said finally.

“You did nothing,” Lucia said, playfully swatting him on the arm as she walked towards the lift gates, lifting the mood which was taking a turn for the somber.  “Nothing happened that you could have prevented.”

The lift rumbled as Lucia had predicted.  When the gates opened, there was a woman inside, smaller than Lucia.  She was in a traveling cloak, buttoned tight under her chin with a deep hood so Hermione couldn’t make out her face.  Lucia was murmuring quickly and quietly in Italian so that when the smaller woman drew back her hood, her eyes were frantically scanning the room.  When she saw Severus, she made a small noise and ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

Hermione frowned, biting her lip.  The woman’s gait had been awkward and limping.  When she drew back, Hermione expected her to say something, anything, but she didn’t.  Instead, she stepped back and drew her wand and nonverbally wrote silver words in the air between them.  

_ It is good to see you again, Severus, my friend. _

“And I you,” Severus said, the tightness around his eyes the only thing that betrayed his discomfort.  “I am glad to see you Giulia.”

Lucia came up behind the other woman, sliding an arm around her waist.  Their eyes met briefly before Lucia turned to the remaining pair, a strong smile on her face, but in her eyes there was sadness.  Something seemed to pass between them that made Lucia speak for them both.

“After Voldemort fell, there was more pressure on me to save face for my family,” Lucia began and her tone was light though the words were anything but.  “For my family that meant a wedding.  I refused.  I refused on every ground I could think of, but my father wouldn’t yield.  Finally, I thought that binding my magic to someone else, as my commitment to no one my father might choose, would be enough.  It was not.”

Lucia swallowed hard and Giulia squeezed her waist gently, prompting her to continue, “My father was furious.  I had the brains and the talent, not to mention my gifts at Legilimency.  I would have been a valuable bride to any he could find.  He thought to punish me and he found the perfect way.  Giulia suffered for my stupidity.”

Giulia was adamantly shaking her head, but Lucia wouldn’t look at her so she drew her wand and wrote, ‘ _ Our stupidity.  It was my choice as well.  I would change nothing.’ _  Lucia smiled tensely, but she looked ready to cry when she looked back at Severus and Hermione.

“It didn’t matter that when help came, when I found her and punished those responsible, that it was over,” Lucia said, her voice rough.  “The damage was done.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked, looking at the pair, wanting to know but fearing to know.

Lucia seemed unable to continue, so Giulia finished the explanation.

_ Curse scars,  _ she wrote with her wand.   _ Various experiments. The only true loss I feel is my tongue. _

“Surely you might let me try to help?” Severus asked.

_ I am content,  _ she wrote.   _ You may try, but please do not feel the duty. _

“Treasure the time that you have, Severus,” Lucia said, her voice tight, her grip on the other woman’s waist keeping her tight to her side as she looked at the man beside Hermione.  “You know that it is never certain how long that we will be given.  Do not waste your time in doubt.”

And Hermione knew that it was to her, as much as to Severus, that she was speaking.  When they returned to Hogwarts, Hermione felt drained, but Severus had other ideas.  He had headed down immediately to the lab.  The borrowed books and the notes they had taken were immediately put to use.

Both seemed reluctant to go to bed, even as the hours ticked by as they worked after supper.  Finally, when Hermione was about to leave for bed, conceding the night, she gathered enough courage to ask, “What was in the box?”

Severus looked up, surprised at the break in the easy silence.  He looked away, hair falling into his face as he did so before he answered, “Music.  Cassettes and a player.  Headphones.  Other trinkets.”

“When..” she started to ask, before she shook her head and said, “Nevermind.  I’m sorry."

“No,” he said, setting down the pencil he had been using.  “No, it’s alright.”

Severus sat on a stool beside the table, leaning forward onto the table in front of him, as he began, “I’m not sure how much she shared.  I would assume you gathered what they are to each other,” Hermione nodded.  

“I needed to show that I had no lingering feelings for Lily Evans and Lucia needed to show that the world that she was something she was not.  In public, even then, boh Giulia and Lucia pretended to be impressed and fighting for my affections,” he half-laughed, “They helped me.  It was fun, at the time.  They were brilliant and we liked each other.  When I left, we still wrote each other.  When the Dark Lord returned, I learned what had happened to them.  I was sent as an envoy to Italy but was unsuccessful in recruiting her or her family.  It was not,” he paused and Hermione felt a brief flash of cold.  “It was not a pleasant evening for me.”

“I eventually contacted her by owl and learned where she was, what she had been doing, but nothing that could help me,” Severus looked away, pained.  “When Albus died, she sent me a Howler.  It was the last I heard from her.  And the end of my last remaining friendship.”

“Not anymore,” Hermione whispered and he looked up at her.  

At once, she was swallowed by his eyes, falling into the deep and forbidding black.  The strands of hair hanging around his face looked soft and if she only reached across the table between them she could brush them back from his face.  Hermione swallowed hard as she felt the heat rising between them.  What they had done in Italy had seemed to cement her ability to sense him and she knew what she was feeling wasn’t solely her.

Suddenly, she was terrified.  Hermione felt her heart pounding against her ribs and in her throat.  Every other time, they would have found an excuse to walk away.  Severus would break eye contact.  She would make a break for her bedroom.  But now, neither of them moved away and she was trapped.  Lucia’s words, echoed through her head.   _ You will survive… Do not waste your time in doubt. _

_ He loves you. _

Her lips parted to say something, anything, and she watched his eyes flick down before back up to her eyes.  Her heart pounded even harder and now she could hear it rattling her eardrums.  She felt her hands shaking and she looked down, unable to hold his eyes anymore.  She felt, rather than saw him come around the table and she felt frozen, staring down at the table, unable to look at him.  

Severus was right beside her.  If she turned, she probably couldn’t stop her shoulder from brushing against him.  The bubbling warmth inside her was just now turning to a small flurry of worry and hesitation.  That, more than desire, made her turn and look up at him, licking her lips.  Time seemed to slow as they stared at each other.  She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly she had raised her head up and his had come down.

Their lips met and the first brush was hesitant, as if he was afraid she would pull back.  Both were so terribly careful not to touch anything but lips.  Severus drew back slightly, but Hermione moved forward so their foreheads were touching, not letting him withdraw too far.  There was a fine, even tremble that was shaking him.  She brought her hands up, brushing the strands of his hair away from her face and tucking it behind his ears.  Her hands were shaking as her thumbs brushed his jaw, gently leading his mouth back to hers.

The next time, when their lips met, he kissed her.  Steadying herself on her toes, anchoring her body by using her hands, cupping his face for balance, her lips moved against his.  She felt his hands come up and just barely touch the back of her shoulders.  Her tongue came out, just barely teasing his lips open.  His hands slid down her back to her waist, drawing her closer and then kissed her back.  His mouth opened and suddenly he changed.  No longer did he seem like he was worried about scaring her away.  Now he seemed worried that this might be his only chance.

Severus held her tight, now practically crushing her against him, desperate for more contact.  Her arms were cradled in against his chest as he tilted his head further to the side so that he could practically feed at her mouth.  She felt the softness of his lips, the occasional bite of teeth as he drew her bottom lip into his mouth, and then his tongue as it brushed hers.  Her senses were on overload and it wasn’t until she felt dizzy that she realized she had been barely breathing.  Almost as if he knew, the kisses became slower, more deliberate, less tongue and more a caressing of lips.

Drawing back, she felt him laugh shakily.  His voice was shaking and almost broke as he whispered, his words warm again her face, “I have wanted to do that for,” he took a breath, “For a long time now.”

Hermione laughed shakily, her forehead now pressing against his again, her thumbs brushing lines against the sides of his face, as she whispered back, “Me too.”

The press of her forehead against his seemed to be the only thing keeping his spirit from flying out of his skin.  Severus could feel his body shaking, craving, and it was all he could do to keep himself from crushing her back against him.  Lucia’s brief touches had awakened the hunger for contact that he had forgotten he possessed and now, with Hermione, touching her had made the hunger worse, not better.  

He wanted to run his hands over her, have her touch him and it had shockingly more to do with the sheer contact than anything sexual.  But of course the brief thought of sex awakened that desire too and he fought the impulse to hide and draw away at the thought.    He tried to focus his breathing, to keep her from noticing, but he couldn’t drag himself away and that would have been the only way to be sure.

Ridiculously, Severus felt her smile and step into the embrace, pressing her entire body the length of his and his intake of breath and tensing made her laugh.  It was low and quiet and so positively female.  It was a sound that he had never thought to hear a woman make around him again and he felt light-headed by the sheer rush of blood that had traveled south at the sound of it.  It only made her laugh like that again and he felt it go straight to his groin. He felt his erection flex against her and he expected her to draw the line, to pull back, but she didn’t.  

A brief flash of cold in all that heat made him recover himself slightly.  Pulling back from her so he could see her face, she saw her confused expression seeming to be a mirror for his own.  He felt her confusion and again he felt the cold.  Too late for a real warning, Severus realized what must be happening.  He had time for one world before his world collapsed in on itself.

“Fight,” he whispered harshly and her fear tripled she realized what was happening.

The attack hit and drove her to her knees.  Severus grabbed her face to keep her eyes in contact with his and he instantly felt whatever it was that was drawing her magic trying to pull on his own.  But his magic was not what the hungry force was trying to feed on.  He felt it pulling at her and it was the strangest sensation.  The points of contact that were his hands on her skin seemed to ground her magic, to hold her inside herself.

“Hold on,” he whispered, even as he felt the pain that she did, the terrible pull at her chest.  “Fight.”

Severus saw the light fading in her eyes, even as her chest rose and fell in panicked breaths.  Her heart was still struggling and, though it was doubtless an illusion, he felt its fluttering pulses against his fingers.  He felt it slowing, losing the battle to keep beating and he acted on instinct and gave her more contact.  He kissed her again.  He knew that it was simply pressure, simply contact, no longer more born of lust or desire, but it seemed enough and her heart continued to beat.  

The evil pull cut off and Severus immediately pulled away as Hermione’s form collapsed nearly lifeless against his.  He came back to reality gradually, realizing the absurd first, like the pain in his knees from the floor, all before the panting, almost hysterical, woman in his arms.  He drew her in slowly, cautiously, to the floor and half in his lap.  She went willingly, almost desperately, clinging to the front of his robes, shaking.  

Hermione wasn’t crying, he realized, as he stroked her hair, her back, her arms.  As he leaned his head back against the wall, he also knew that that was a bad sign.  There was a resignation to the quiet shaking.  And resignation to pain was not something he would let happen to her.  Not if he could help it.


	33. Sleep Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! Pretty quick update! Thanks to Columbina for edits and to Themis for helping read!

_“In dreams we enter a world that’s entirely our own.” ~ Albus Dumbledore_

Severus didn’t sleep at all that night.  He skipped showering in favor of quick cleaning spells.  And he kept working.  After the attack, Hermione had been so exhausted, she had tripped going up the stairs.  If he hadn’t been at her elbow when she tripped, she would have fallen because the next moment she had completely passed out.  Carrying her had been more strenuous than he would have admitted to anyone, but he hadn’t dared to let go of her to go for his wand. 

By the time he had gotten her onto her bed, Severus had been panting and nearly as tired.  She wasn’t heavy, but only sheer willpower had kept him moving when his lungs and muscles had wanted to give out.  Now, he was simply keeping busy.  Lucia had been right.  They would simply have to treat the symptoms for now and hope that in April, when the other Hermione went back in time, the attacks would cease.

And so now?  Now, he worked.  For the first time, Severus slipped on music not to escape from evil thoughts, but from good ones.  Kissing her had been perfect.  He had trusted Lucia when she had muttered in Italian that he should just do it already.  As he slipped the headphones over his ears, he permitted himself a smile.  Her actual phrasing had been more crass, but the gist had been _kiss the girl before she thinks you don’t want to because you’re embarrassed about the size of your dick._  Then he let the music play and he lost himself in the next problem.

When Daniel tried to push breakfast on him, Severus finally began to feel nervous.  He hadn’t seen Hermione since he had put her to bed.  He paced their common room now, shooting furtive glances at her door.  His self-doubt began to gnaw at him.  What if she regretted the kiss?  What if she was hiding because she couldn’t face him?  He raked fingers through his hair and threw himself down on top of the sofa.  Just when he was beginning to internally rage at Lucia and her damned ideas, Daniel appeared.

“What?” Severus barked at him.

“Miss Granger is still sleeping,” Daniel said.

Looking at the clock - it was now just after noon - Severus immediately went into her room without a thought.  She was in the same position that she had been in last night.  She hadn’t moved.  He immediately began diagnostic spells, but nothing was wrong.  She was simply asleep.  Her magical stores were lower than their previous test by another percent.  It was a three percent difference to the test that was done before her attack in December.  Only a percent and she was still unconscious from last night.  Severus magically summoned her chair and sat before he fell down. 

He caught his hand halfway to her face before he hesitated.  Cursing at himself, he did it anyway, brushing his fingers against the softness of her cheek.  Once he started, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.  He traced her hairline, brushing stray strands of her hair back from her face.  He gently ran his fingers through it until they caught on snags that had shockingly formed even though she hadn’t moved at all in sleep.  He was fascinated, working out the tangles with all the dedication of one working out knots from the most delicate of gold jewelry chains.

Time passed and all the hair he could reach safely had been untangled, and still she slept.  Returning his fingers to her face, he gently brushed them against her cheek.  Hermione moved her face against them, startling him. 

“Good morning,” she whispered quietly.

Severus immediately withdrew his hand as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone took a battering ram to my chest and then drained all the energy from me,” Hermione said stiffly.  But then she smiled at him, and even though she still looked like she could have slept for hours more, and said, “But I seem to remember a wonderful dream where someone was brushing my hair.”

Immediately Severus tucked inward and looked away.  Below the bed’s level he crossed his arms so that she couldn’t see how desperately he still wanted to touch her.  It was like an ache, a pain, had started that he had forgotten that he had.  It was an ailment that he had thought cured, but the cure was actually in front of him.  And he didn’t want to scare it away with how badly he needed it.

A hand turned his face upwards.  She still looked so tired, but the slight pressure drew his face up.  She smiled.  She probably felt terrible, Merlin knew she looked it, but there was a wonderful feeling that was warming her that he could feel flowing down through the magical connection that they still seemed to share.  He felt himself smile.

“It didn’t fade this time,” Hermione said, the warm comfortable feeling still there as he looked at her.

“No,” he whispered back.

“I’m glad,” Hermione said, her eyes closing again as she sank back into her pillow.

“Can I get you something to eat?” Severus asked, trying to conceal his worry.

Hermione’s tired eyes opened again.  She was confused, he could tell.  Her eyes flicked to the window and she frowned.

“How long have I been asleep?” Hermione asked.

“About 16 hours,” he replied and he felt her shock thrill through him and she started feeling as worried as he had been since this morning.

Eventually, Severus coaxed her up and helped her sit and eat with him.  He couldn’t shield his worry now.  Every movement she made seemed to be a great effort.  Though there was no awkwardness, Severus held himself back.  He offered his hand and arm, but never let her see how much he wanted more.  He had survived on nothing for over a decade, he could certainly survive on crumbs now.

“Severus,” the quiet voice made him look up.

“Why are you sitting so far away?” Hermione asked.

Severus looked at where she sat, her legs tucked up under a blanket, settled in the corner of the sofa.  He hadn't noticed how she had taken to no longer sitting in her chair recently.  He stood stiffly and sat on the other corner of the sofa, very carefully not touching her feet but wanting nothing more than to lay down beside her or draw her into him.  He felt the hurt come from her and immediately kicked himself.  Of course she might be feeling the same insecurities.  He edged closer slightly, mollifying her, and it seemed to be what she needed.  Smiling, she took a cushion and dropped it in his lap, making him start, but before he had time to react, she took the paper out of his hand, gave him her book, and then promptly curled up with her head in his lap.

“Read to me?” she asked, her eyes already closing.

Taking _Cirrosen,_ he began to read.  The still familiar words flowed easily and it helped to mask the almost choking emotions that were flooding him.  It was almost too much, too perfect, too easy.  He wanted to draw her in, kiss her senseless, and beg her never to leave him, but it would be for nothing.  He had never wanted something, some _one_ , so desperately ever in his life. 

She put up with him, liked him even.  Clearly, she even desired him, more the fool her.  Hermione nudged his free hand, placing a kiss to it, before holding it between her own under her chin like it was something precious.  His words halted at that, but she never opened her eyes and he continued reading.  The foreign emotion was there again, just like it had been when she had gone to visit her parents.  His throat was threatening to close with it, but he forced himself to keep reading until she fell asleep. 

After he had set the book aside, Severus hadn't moved.  He simply stroked her face and hair with his free hand, feeling much more at liberty to do so with her sleeping.  He convinced himself that in just a few more minutes he would carry her to bed.  He was still trying to convince himself how many more when he slipped down a bit on the couch and fell asleep.

When Hermione woke, it was to the feeling of warmth.  The hand she still had tucked under her chin like a security blanket was warm and limp.  Looking up, squinting, she could see the twisted angle that Severus had slept in, his lank hair masking part of his face and his neck in an odd angle to the side that she knew he would regret once he woke.

Hermione was still tired, but it had settled in her bones somehow and she knew somehow that sleeping more wouldn't cure it.  Such a thought might have scared her before, but now she merely felt resigned.  She felt his muscles clench abruptly and his hand jerked away an inch before he opened his eyes with a groan.

“Good morning,” she said, snuggling in his lap, more at ease than she would ever have anticipated herself being in this position.

Severus had tensed again underneath her and she had the devilish thought of wondering if, like most men, he happened to wake up with a certain problem.  Feigning ignorance, she closed her eyes and snuggled more firmly against the cushion.  Hearing his sharp intake of breath made her look up.

Almost immediately, Hermione regretted her mischief.  His nostrils were slightly flared and the cords in his neck were clearly defined because of the tense way he was holding himself.  He was also shaking again.  If she didn't know to look for it, she might not have noticed, but even his hand was trembling.  He swallowed so hard, she easily followed the movement down his throat.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The need that suddenly hit her was nearly overwhelming and it made muscles in her low stomach and lower clench tight.  Wincing, she drew herself up and out of his lap and she could feel the loss he felt so much that it made her chest ache.  She didn't look away from him.  He watched her like a caged animal, all tense muscles and vibrating energy.  He wanted.  It was so ridiculously strong it was a wonder she hadn't felt it like this last night.  It was so powerful and this, she realized, was what held him so perfectly still. 

It was frightening in a way, but also stupidly sweet.  Hermione came to her knees beside him.  He didn't want to frighten her away.  She suddenly knew it.  Knew it like she knew her own name.  He wanted to know how far she would let him go.  He was giving her the reins, so to speak, by not pushing her too far.  But the cost was that he was not able to even begin without knowing how far to go. 

Hermione brushed her fingers across his right cheek and he let out a breath very close to a pained sound, closed his eyes and leaned into it.  His hands clenched into fists at his sides.  He was holding back because he was missing one crucial piece of information.  She had made up her mind long ago. 

Wishing she could do this without morning breath, but still knowing that this was important enough that she couldn't care, Hermione leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.  The frozen stance and fine trembling didn't stop, it only seemed to increase.  She kissed along his cheek, brushing his hair out of the way by nuzzling it with her nose, and kissed down to his jaw.  His breath was coming out in small pants and gasps as she kissed down the left side of his neck.  Tonguing one of the tight muscles under the skin made him flinch and groan so she did it again, with more pressure and the heat of her mouth. 

Severus was trembling almost violently when she made it to the collar of his shirt and began ascending up the other side.  She did this quicker though, with only small traces of lips, since she was practically suspended over him at this point until she stopped, frozen, hovering over his mouth.  His eyes were still shut tight, his face contorted almost in pain.  When it became clear that she wasn't continuing, his eyes flew open.  She met the wild eyes with a small smile and a quirk of eyebrows and that seemed to be enough.

In a moment, all of that trembling energy sprung and Hermione found herself pinned down on the couch, the full length of him nearly pressed against her for one glorious moment of comfort and pressure and heat.  His eyes looked almost mad, looking at her like she wasn't real, from the only part of him that wasn't pressed against her own.  She flexed her hips up, which ground her against what had to be a painfully hard erection that made his breath shudder out in a groan.  He half collapsed the rest of the way on top of her, hiding his head over her shoulder in the couch and for a minute clung tight to her, his arms squeezing her so tightly around her waist and ribs that she feared she would have to tell him to stop.

Hermione could feel how desperate, how needed it was and, instead of pushing him away, she squeezed back.  As much as her arms would allow, she held him tightly, and, when that wasn't enough, she threaded her legs half around his legs and hips and squeezed too.  His shoulders shuddered and he turned his head in the cushions so she could hear his harsh breathing.  For some probably ridiculous reason, she found herself wanting to cry at the strength of his arms holding her so tightly that had nothing to do with how her ribs were beginning to ache and everything to do with all of the people who had never held him like this. 

His shoulders shook again and she had a brief moment where she wondered if he was crying before he reared up with a gasp.  His eyes looking down at her looked a little less wild, but no less awed.  Then he kissed her and she had trouble breathing again for an entirely different reason.

Severus kissed her so thoroughly that she could only keep her hands steady on his back for a moment before she started kissing him back.  Then his hands moved, fingers were rubbing delicious circles into her back as the other came up to cup her face, her head, her neck.  He rolled sideways, moving her with him, pressing her against him so she didn't fall off the couch and kept kissing her without pausing for breath.  Hermione hooked one leg through his, making his hips thrust forward and causing both of them to moan.  He broke free of her lips, Hermione gasped in air, and she knew he was going to ask something ridiculous so she just grabbed him and pulled him back in.

The desperation had seemed to cool now. Instead of kissing like he was sure at any second she would call a stop, he explored.  His tongue caressed hers.  His teeth drew her lip in, sucked, nibbled, bit, drawing out pants and moans from her.  Now that he seemed sure of himself, the trembling had disappeared and only strength radiated from him and it was all she could do to hold on.  He broke away, holding her head to the side and worked his way down her neck.  The roles were now reversed. She couldn't stop trembling.  Everything was heightened by the bond that seemed to magnify her own feelings by her feeling his. 

It wasn't until she felt his lips against her collarbone, until she felt that moment of brief hesitation that she realized she was starting to have trouble breathing.  The weariness that she had woken up with had seemed to come back with a vengeance and she was suddenly weak and dizzy.

Severus looked up at her, concern in his face.  Shaking, Hermione touched his face with a smile, wishing so much that she could keep going.  If only her eyelids weren't so heavy.  The desire cooled gradually, as if he could feel it in her. And he drew her in against him.  She went willingly, laying her cheek against his chest.  She might have cried in frustration if only she wasn't so tired.

“It's alright,” Severus whispered and his hands were gently stroking her back, her hair. 

Hermione tried to protest, but hearing his heart pound through his shirt, the smell of herbs, and his hands running in soothing lines up and down her back all but lulled her back to sleep.

“Should we have some breakfast?” he asked.

Hermione nodded against his chest, still achingly tired, but not wanting him more worried than he already was.  It hurt her to feel exactly how quickly his enthusiasm had died in response to her sluggishness.  Moving proved almost difficult, but they managed getting her up together.  Hermione managed through it and she even thought she convinced herself that she was well by the end.  It was seeing the tension around his eyes and his near constant worry that made her feel that she hadn’t been as convincing as she hoped.

The day passed.  Hermione was tired, but she tried her best not to let it show.  Severus seemed to want to pretend that everything was the same as they worked.  He was still working on his own original ideas that he was still publishing in journals.  Hermione did her best to assist, though she was now beginning to feel that she was almost getting in the way.

“Perhaps you should lay down,” Severus said finally.

Hermione looked at him.  The creases around his eyes had deepened over the course of the afternoon.  The worst thing was that she agreed with him.  She looked at him and realized that his hair had taken on the greasy quality that she remembered from her school days and he was starting to gather bruises under his eyes again.

“You look tired too,” Hermione said and his expression softened.

“I am fine,” he said stiffly, but Hermione knew that he wasn’t.

Just this morning, he had positively set her on fire, and now she couldn’t even kindle a spark.  Her feelings hadn’t diminished in the least, but her ability to do anything about them had and it filled her with such anguish.  It wasn’t fair. 

“What is it?” Severus asked.

Hermione looked up at him.  The concern on his face made her heart ache and she almost found herself wanting to confess exactly why she was feeling like this.  That the thought that now, after giving in to her feelings at long last, she might be on her last legs made her so filled with regret for every wasted moment.  Lucia’s dictate however crashed home and she refused to voice such morbid thoughts.  She looked away.  When he stepped closer, she folded forward and let him cradle her against him, closing her eyes and breathing him in.  She wished she could tell him, but she didn’t want to worry him more than he already was.  When he kissed the top of her head, she closed her eyes and fought tears.

The week passed with nothing remarkable happening.  The passionate kisses that they had shared on the sofa seemed to be the most that was going to happen with the current state of things.  Severus was looking more haggard than normal and through it all, Hermione was just tired.  Before, the weariness had passed relatively quickly, but now it lingered, teasing her, stifling her.  The more she recognized it, the more it seemed to grow.

At least now, she was comfortable touching him and he no longer flinched when she did so.  There was something there that was missing that she couldn’t put her finger on.  There was also the growing tension that she was feeling that he seemed ready to snap at any moment.  It was somehow aggravated by the fact that he was trying desperately not to snap at her.  By the end of the week, the rubbish bin had reappeared.

“Daniel, what’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked finally as she was getting ready for bed.

The house elf looked nearly as wrecked as the pair of them.  The bottom of his once pristine towel had been frayed from constantly wringing it like he was doing now.  If it had gotten to the point that she needed to ask Daniel…

“The Headmaster has not slept, Miss Granger,” the house elf said, looking nearly terrified.

“Since when?” Hermione asked.

“Not since,” the house elf’s voice dropped even lower. “Sunday Miss Granger.”

“What?” Hermione nearly screamed.  “That’s nearly fifty…. Where is he now?”

“In his room Miss,” the house elf replied.  “The Headmaster is still trying to stay awake, but it is not right, Miss Granger.  It is not right.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“Daniel does not know, Miss,” the house elf said.

That was what found her outside Severus’s bedroom door.  She wondered if she should knock or barge in.  If she concentrated, she could sense him in her magic, but it had grown to be a background noise of nearly constant discomfort.  Now that she thought about it, it seemed to have faded since the initial days.  Or maybe.  Maybe he was trying to block her so that she wouldn’t know what he was up to.  Like staying up for nearly three days.  Dammit, if Daniel had worried about indecency, he wouldn’t have told her.  She made up her mind and opened the door.

It was the only room she hadn’t been in.  It was darker too, the only light coming from a fireplace that was now burning low.  Severus’s bed was off to the side, but her attention was on the man seated at the desk.  He had headphones on again and was writing.  Hermione frowned, drawing slightly closer.  The strokes of the pencil were quick, uneven, as if he were drawing, not writing.  Abruptly he stopped and she thought she had been found out.  The pencil flew across the room where it pinged against the opposite wall and he roughly jerked the headphones off his head.

“What did it ever do to you?” Hermione asked, trying for flippancy and failing as he jerked around in surprise.

“Don’t.  Do that,” Severus hissed, clutching a hand to his chest.

Hermione saw the movement behind him as he tried to misdirect her.  The crumpled paper was tossed into the fire before she ever saw what it was.  It was progress, she thought, that he hadn’t even thought to draw a wand on her.  She walked closer to him and even in the dim light, she could see how wretched he looked.

“Severus, what are you doing?” she asked gently.

He turned away from her and she felt the beginning of feelings again, low in her stomach.  Hermione was also glad that for the first time in nearly a week, she wasn’t nearly as tired as she had been before.  Reaching forward, she brushed the side of his face and he closed his eyes into it.  Again, there was that look of near pain on his face.

“Severus?” she asked again.

“I am trying to continue working,” he said finally, turning his head slightly to more fully press his face against her hand.

“Why?” Hermione asked him.

A muscle near his nose twitched and he tried to turn away but she caught the other side of his face with her other hand, not letting him hide.  He kept his eyes closed when he answered.

“It helps me not to think,” he said finally.

“Working keeps you from thinking?” Hermione asked lightly, before the light dawned.  “Oh.”

“Hmph,” Severus said gruffly before standing and moving away from her.

“Thinking about me?” Hermione asked.  His non-answer seemed to be reply enough.  “About me, or about...us?”

“Both,” Severus said roughly, turning around with his hands behind his back.

“Do you need to think about it so hard?” Hermione asked.  “Maybe you should just sleep on it instead?”

Severus scoffed, running his hands roughly through his hair.  “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Hermione asked, trying to figure out the small storm that was starting inside her that seemed to have its origins from the man in front of her.

“Both,” Severus said, sounding so momentarily defeated.  He opened his mouth like he would continue, thought better of it, and then seemed to decide to do it anyway.  “If I try to sleep, I start to think.  And thinking about.  Dammit.  Hermione, I am not good at this.”

“At what?  Explaining?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice low in response to his starting to raise.

“No!” Severus said before wringing his hands together in front of him in such a raw display that it was almost shocking.  “Yes!  All of it.  Explaining things, thinking about.  Fuck.”

“How long has it been since you slept?” Hermione asked.

“Monday,” he said, gripping the back of his desk chair.  “Maybe Sunday.  I haven’t kept track.”

“Severus, you need to sleep,” Hermione said, approaching him very much like you would a wild animal.

“I know,” he said and for the first time actually sounded tired.  “I just don’t.  I can’t.  Cannot.”

Hermione touched him on the shoulder and turned him to face her.  Would this always be the case until this was over?  Would one of them always be in constant need of care when the other was willing?  She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the mouth.  His arms came around her naturally and she threaded her arms around his neck and into his hair.  Pulling back from him, she looked at him almost accusingly.

“What?” he asked, the weariness before seeming to magnify after the gentle kiss.

“When was the last time you had a proper shower?” Hermione asked.

“I believe I should take offense, but find I am gratefully too tired to do so,” Severus said, leaning his forehead on hers, some of the tension just draining away as she rubbed circles into his neck.  “Though at least I am confident that the cleaning spells keep me from offending, so I bring that up in my defense.”

“Cleaning spells are not a proper bath,” Hermione admonished lightly.  “And it would probably make you feel better.”

“Doubtful,” he said softly   “They never have before.  Spells are easier."

“Not even when you were little?” she asked automatically, wincing internally when she felt the muscles she was rubbing tense under her fingers.

“Bathing was never pleasant, no,” Severus said quietly, the tension draining once more as she massaged down his back wherever she could reach.  “Hard to be when you share a bath and you're youngest.”

Hermione almost said that many had to go last when sharing a bathroom, but then he had never said “room”, only “bath”.  Even knowing that the Snapes had been poor from Harry in theory was not the same thing as being confronted with the facts of it.

“For someone who doesn't like it, the tub you have here is wasted on you then,” Hermione said lightly, trying to banish the images of a young child going last in a tin tub.

“It was necessary for a time,” he said, his breath whispering across her face.  “There were times when I needed to be clean, but couldn't manage a shower or spells.”

Hermione felt her heart clench painfully at the easy way he admitted to things.  He was so pliant in her arms now as he let himself become as tired as he had been doubtlessly feeling.  He sighed and more of the tension seemed to drain away.

“I'll sleep,” he said finally, though he made no moves to back away from her.  “You can go.”

“And if I don't want to go?” Hermione asked drawing back slightly to see his face.

At once, Severus became tense as a bowstring, all of her work relaxing him gone.  She felt suddenly so nervous and anxious she was nearly sick.  It was so abrupt, that it was clear that it was from him.  What she couldn’t understand was why.

“Severus?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Hermione, I’m,” Severus started, almost folding inward in front of her.  “I am not.  I wouldn’t be able.”

Suddenly, Hermione finally understood and she quickly hurried to correct him, saying, “I only meant sleep!”

The relief that he felt was palatable and the exhaustion that she had felt from him came back with a vengeance and she felt him sway slightly in her arms.  They parted and she watched him think.  Something was obviously bothering him that he couldn’t seem to voice it.  Finally, he sighed again.

“You can stay,” he said quietly.

Severus passed her quickly and went for his bed.  There was a layer of nerves again and vulnerability about him as he sat and started undoing his boots.  Suddenly, Hermione became very self-conscious of her pajamas underneath her dressing gown.  Propping his forearms on his knees, he looked at her through his hair.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly.

Hermione smiled as she walked over.  Leaning forward, she kissed him gently, cradling his face.  Nudging him, she gave him a nod towards the pillows.  The small smile that twitched her lips was precious to her. He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, tossing them to the side before laying down on his back, looking up at her.  When she sat, he closed his eyes, giving in to the exhaustion that she could still feel through the bond.  There were still nerves, but he seemed to be giving them up in favor of the exhaustion.

Laying herself down next to him, Hermione leaned over and kissed his cheek.  His eyes fluttered open before closing in exhaustion.  She wanted to touch him, but it was the first time they had done this, and she couldn’t decide how. Thankfully, Severus sighed, and turned away onto his side away from her, giving her more room on the bed.  Making up her mind, she moved over on the bed and curled herself against his back and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should span a few months... hang on everyone. The end of their journey is almost here.


	34. The Journey's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on tight now, it's a bumpy ride to the end.

_“Well later on then I met a girl_

_The true companion I found in her_

_I never wanted another_

_So I tell I love her_

_And I always will_

_She needs to know that_

_I cannot do this alone” ~ Colony House_

Severus woke with the warm, solid heat of Hermione behind him.  He permitted himself a pure moment of near hedonistic pleasure at the feel of her, and of the weight of her arm draped so trustingly and almost protectively around his waist.  That she had been willing, even pleased, to sleep with him like this was something almost too precious to be described.

When she had first insinuated she wanted to stay, he had been close to terrified.  At his lowest point, tired beyond belief, he hadn’t been up to peak performance and that she might demand it at such a time had made him truly afraid.  But, it was Hermione.  And he should have known better. They had been living side by side now for nearly ten months.  That she would have made such a demand of him after admitting how ridiculous he had been staying up all those hours seemed now, in the light of morning and a blissfully dreamless sleep, ridiculous.

Behind him, Hermione shifted, her arm squeezing his waist and her face nuzzling his upper back.  Closing his eyes, Severus momentarily thought that this was the best his life had ever been and would ever be.  And for once in his worthless existence, that niggling doubt that was always present, harping at him that he would never have this because he could never deserve this, was silent.  For this one moment, blissful existence was real and hope seemed triumphant.  For the first time in his adult life, no one was trying to kill him.  He was safe, well fed, rested, not injured or recuperating from injury, and he was in bed with a woman who truly seemed to care about him.

That nagging voice insisted that her feelings couldn’t be genuine, that she would leave when she finally saw what she had done, but for once he was able to silence it.  He cradled the warm feeling of being safe and cared for like something precious that made his heart warm in a way that he was sure it never had, and it was miraculously enough to drive those doubts away.  For once, hope was louder and stronger in his head.

Hermione shifted again and this time Severus was sure that it was because she was waking up.  Even through all his thoughts about his self-doubt being defeated, he still tensed, bracing himself for her possibly regretting staying the night.  The arm around his waist squeezed tight for an instant before her nose deliberately nudged his back.

“How can you be so tense this early in the morning?” her sleep muffled voice came from behind him and immediately he relaxed.  His relief must have been nearly palpable because she continued.  “Honestly, did you expect me to regret being here?  Git.”

Severus shocked himself into a harsh laugh, before he pulled away from her slightly so he could turn and face her.  She was rubbing her eyes and her hair was sticking up in an absurd cloud on one side of her face.  He gave her a small smile that was probably closer to a smirk if he gauged his face correctly.  Leaning forward, Hermione gave him a quick kiss on the lips before slipping out of the bed.

Severus watched her go with another small smile on his face.  As she reached the door, she turned back to smile shyly at him.  Before he had been self-conscious, but now he sat up.  He was hit with the sudden and stupid desire to wave and he scowled.  Evidently, she didn’t take it personally because she laughed her way out the door.

Severus was gathering fresh clothes for the day to take into the bathroom when he felt it.  The immediate terror that coursed through him had to be the strongest that he had felt in his life.  He had forced her bedroom door open seconds before he saw her collapse against the bed.  This time, the attack was still held off slightly by his hands touching her own, but it wasn’t nearly enough.  When his hands slipped under her shirt and part of his arms contacted more skin of her low back it helped anchor her further. 

The pain was a shade less intense than her own, and still he ached.  The pain in his chest echoed something of her own.  The cold spread in his arms and legs.  He felt the draw from her that awful hunger that tried desperately to eat at her magic, that was trying to draw his magic through her but couldn’t.  After it ended, he cradled her shaking form.  When she looked up, she tried to smile at him before she fainted away completely in his arms.

Lucia had been dreaming.  She was sure that they had been pleasant dreams, but when a crack echoed through her small bedroom, her heart pounded as hard as if she had woken from the worst nightmare.  Giulia’s strangled scream behind her had her pointing her wand into the darkness around them, looking desperately for the source of the noise.  How had anyone gotten through her wards?

“You is being Miss Lucia?”  a squeaky voice said, and Lucia barely missed the elf with a spell.

“Madre di Dio!” Lucia yelled, throwing off her covers.  “Che cazzo fai?”

“You _is_ Miss Lucia?” the elf said again and finally, Lucia was able to see it clearly, her eyes adjusting in the darkness.  The frail looking form looked half-starved and the rag it was wearing had seen better days.  The pristine looking towel at its waist made her hate the creature’s owners for its contrast to the towel it wore instead of clothes.

“I am,” Lucia said finally.  “Who is your master, elf?  Who could possibly think that this-”

She didn’t get to finish her question however, because the elf had Apparated to her side, taken hold of her calf, and Disapparated with a snap of its tiny fingers.  When she reappeared, Lucia was furious, shivering, and blinking in the sudden light of a room she didn’t recognize.  Furious, she started cursing with every single foul word in every language she knew until she turned fully around.

“Severus,” she said in surprise, trying to keep her voice light.  “You would normally clean up before getting a woman out of bed.”

The man in front of her was deliberately not looking at her, so she couldn’t pick up anything from his mind yet.  That fact alone immediately made her skin start to crawl.  That, combined with his ragged appearance filled her with mounting dread. She couldn’t even tell for sure if something terrible had happened, though obviously it had.  He simply turned and beckoned her after him as he entered the door to the room beyond.  Lucia shivered and crossed her arms over her chest as she walked forward, only half of her chill from the castle air hitting the bare skin of her arms.

The room beyond was a bedroom.  For a heart-stopping moment, Lucia thought the woman lying on the bed was dead.  Then she saw her chest rise and fall in the deep even breathing of someone fast asleep.  Shivering again, Lucia walked nearer but carefully did not touch or get too close. 

“What happened?” Lucia asked softly.

“I cannot wake her.”

Lucia flinched and closed her eyes in pain.  Controlling her own emotions, she carefully painted her easy smile on her face before she turned around to confront the owner of that terribly shattered, broken, voice. 

He looked like shit.  His hair was greasier than she had ever seen it and the shadows under his eyes were nearly as dark as they had been in his earliest days of being a Death Eater.  His eyes were still closed, but the tension in his face creased every line.  He looked years older than the man who had visited her weeks ago in her workshop.

“Severus,” she whispered carefully.  “What happened?”

His eyes opened and she staggered back.  His mind rolled against hers, not on purpose, but simply because he had no control.  Desperation.  Agony.  Pain.  Exhaustion.  Desperation.  Pain.  Heartache.  Panic.  Desperation.  Pain.  Lucia closed her eyes and stepped back, nearly tripping on the edge of her nightgown.  Through all the raw emotion, she had gathered up what had happened. 

“It's been a full day with her like this?” Lucia asked, trying desperately to build up walls to lessen the pain still emanating from him.  Finally, it eased.  But she didn't look at him again.

Looking down at Hermione, she drew her wand.  After performing the standard checks, Lucia rested it on the side table.  Everything tested normal.  Just like every other test, except, of course, her magic stores had been lowered a bit and she wasn't waking.  She could almost feel Severus, like an ominous cloud behind her, even though she couldn't use her abilities without looking at him.  For someone who had always hated people who were overly emotional, for him to be this way spoke very clearly about how he felt.

“Severus,” Lucia said over her shoulder.  “You should go lay down. I’ll get you when she’s awake.”

Lucia heard the door close and let out the breath she had been holding.  She didn't think she could take being rolled under those intense feelings again and still be able to do what needed to be done.  Taking one more breath to steady herself, she leaned forward and grasped the sleeping woman’s arm.

It was like no dream that Lucia had ever entered before.  When she had first rescued Giulia, she had entered her mind when she was sleeping to help her conquer her night terrors.  Even before that, she had sometimes helped Severus to sleep.  In all circumstances, it had been obvious that she had entered a dream.  Here though, it felt the same as waking thoughts, though slower somehow.  Even movement took more out of her, as if the air was made of thicker things the consistency of honey.

They were in the room she had first appeared in.  The fire was burning low.  Hermione was asleep on the couch, an open book laying splayed on her chest.  Lucia reached out to her and again she was struck by how difficult it was to make her arm move the two feet to touch the sleeping woman's hand.

“Hermione,” she said, but it came out as a whisper.  “Hermione!  HERMIONE!”

The woman's eyes fluttered open.  She squinted up at her.  For a moment, Lucia froze, surprised without understanding why.  And then it hit her.  Hermione was looking at her, eye to eye, and she couldn't hear any of what she was thinking.

“Why are you here?” Hermione asked, her voice coming out higher than her normal speaking voice.

“You're asleep, _cara mia_ ,” Lucia said gently, her voice coming out deeper than she normally heard it.  She tried to ignore the shifting colors around her and focus on Hermione. 

Slowly, and with great effort, Hermione pushed herself up to sitting, sending the book flying into the air, suspending itself between the two women.  Both stared at it before Lucia plucked it from the air and turned it over.  The words were harsh and slanty, clearly English lettering, but nothing made sense.  She couldn't read it.  Turning it to read the silver letters embossed into the deep midnight blue spine.  It read _Severus Snape._  She handed it back to Hermione who took it, caressed the cover and set it in her lap.

“Can you come with me, _carina_?” Lucia asked, extending her hand to her.

“I don't know,” Hermione said with a sigh.  “I'm still so tired.”

Lucia's heart squeezed in panic, but she allowed her face to be calm and smiling, as she said, “It's past time for sleeping, _cara mia._  It's time to wake up.”

Hermione turned to her, again, so slowly that Lucia felt like she was encased in something she couldn't fully see.  Looking off at something beyond, she said, “I'm tired.”

“You're worrying Severus,” Lucia said.  “He's beginning to - ai!”

Lucia jumped.  Hermione had suddenly appeared before her and she was struck by how much taller she seemed in her dreams.

“I'm worrying him?” Hermione asked, the anguish in her face suddenly making her more real, more present, and less slowed by the environment.  “I didn't mean to.”

At her feet, Lucia saw a quick, metallic pulse, but it disappeared almost immediately.  Her eyes flicked back to Hermione.  The women joined hands and their world dissolved around them.

Hermione opened her eyes, immediately looking away from the woman staring down at her.  She tried to sit up, winced, and slid back down, cradling her head.

“You've been asleep for nearly a day,” the soft, Italian-accented voice whispered.  “Severus was terrified.  Though you're forbidden to say that I told you so.”

At her words, tears came unbidden to Hermione’s eyes in such a rush that she couldn't hold them back.  Covering her eyes and trying to hide didn't help.  Lucia helped draw her up and she found herself crying silently into the woman's shoulder as soothing hands rubbed her back.

“Come, come now,” Lucia said finally when she had finished.  “Chin up.  Time to be very strong now.  You will survive.”

“You can't know that,” Hermione replied.

“I can indeed,” the older woman said stubbornly, reaching for her wand to conjure Hermione a handkerchief.  “Time will not win over your magic, Hermione Granger.”

“I've done the figures,” Hermione said, hating how exhausted she still felt as she tried to pull herself together.  “Eventually there will come a time when I can't fight it.  Where essentially a stopper gets pulled and a leak becomes an open drain to the end.  I don't know if that will be with my magic at ninety percent or at fifty percent.  Or even ninety-five percent!  But without help, it would happen before the end of nine months.  Nine months.  I'm almost there. Lucia.”

“Bunk,” the woman replied irritably.  “I've seen many come and go, live and die, of all sorts of causes.  Death will not claim your life, Hermione.”

Hermione chuckled wetly and wiped her nose, “You don't know that for certain.”

“Oh I do,” she said, chucking her lightly under the chin.  “I have seen God honored miracles before my eyes because a client was simply determined not to go just yet.  And you, my dear heart, are not leaving this world in three months.  Because you both need to have a long and happy life together, not just a quick… What's the term you English use?  A quick shag.”

Hermione blushed furiously before a wave of dizziness hit her.  Lucia grasped her chin, her gaze flicking back and forth between her eyes.  She _hmph_ ed.

“You need to eat.  And then you need to see Severus.  Call your elf.  Eat something.  Then come out.”

When Hermione finally felt well enough to move to the common room, she opened the door to a violent exchange between the pair in rapid fire Italian.

“Basta!” Severus barked at her finally and she fell silent. 

Turning with a smile, Lucia looked at her.  Hermione smiled back.  Anyone else might have felt exposed, or even nearly naked in the thin nightgown that she was wearing, but Lucia crossed easily to her and hugged her.

“It is good to see you up and feeling better,” she said.

“I feel like I’m getting a cold,” Hermione confessed, trying desperately to hide how exhausted she truly was.

“It will doubtless present that way,” Lucia said firmly.  “Rest and fluids.  Tend the bond between you.  As much as you are able and no more.  Stay away from aggravating forces.  Oh bless me, what is that thing?"

Crookshanks had his hair up and was approaching the Italian woman.  Lucia looked at him the way that most people looked at rodents.  Evidently they didn’t like each other.  It didn’t improve until Lucia finally left.  Hermione convinced Severus to shower, eat something more with her, and then the pair fell asleep again in his bed.  They didn’t do anything more than sleep and she wished that her disappointment at that didn’t rival her relief. 

January bled into February with barely any improvement in Hermione’s condition.  Severus had set a sofa in the potions lab so that when she needed to sit or nap, she could do it without going too far. He threw himself into work even more than before.  It was as if he could find a solution for one problem, Hermione would recover the rest of the way. 

At the end of the first week, she had an attack again.  This time, she didn’t lose consciousness before or after, but she was weaker than ever before.  She ate less and slept more.  By the end of February, she had had two more.  The last attack had kept her bedridden for two days, but she had made it to March. 

Lucia tried to continue sending messages of encouragement, but it paled in the reality that the pair was experiencing.  They were in Hell and any day that Hermione could safely walk to a chair and eat completely unassisted was a good day.  She felt as if she was draining away even physically.  She felt fragile and paper-thin.  She had no idea how she was going to make it through until April, but April it needed to be.  After the first attack in March, Lucia suspended her work in Italy and came to live with them.

Hermione no longer seemed to have bouts of sickness. Now, it seemed a small miracle if she had three days together where she was well.  Lucia tried desperately to hide from them both how worried she was.  Hermione had told her that her other self didn’t turn back the Time-Turner until April 20th.  They were nearly there, but the two attacks that she had already had in March did not bode well. 

Lucia watched them from the doorway to her bedroom.  Severus was trying to keep Hermione in the conversation about the regenerative properties of unicorn horn, but Lucia could see that no matter how much she tried, her eyes kept closing.  When they finally fluttered shut and didn’t reopen, she watched Severus press a kiss to the back of her hand, and then lean forward and press his mouth to the crown of her head.  Lucia had to turn away.  Her heart was aching again.

“Do you know how long?” Severus asked after a minute in the silence.  His voice sounded dead, as if the animation that he had put into it for Hermione’s sake had been too much for him to maintain for very long.

“No,” Lucia said.  She didn’t know how long Hermione would last like this, and she didn’t know if she could make it to her date in April.  For all the bravado that she had shown Hermione, she had never vowed or sworn her words to be true.  She wouldn’t have tied her life or magic to such an uncertainty.

Severus moved to go past her, but she caught his arm, “Let me help you sleep.  If you keep this up, you will not be able to help her when the time comes.”

He froze beside her, his arm turning to stone under her fingers.  She felt him war with himself.  He needed to be angry at someone, but the incredible effort that he had been exerting with both of them seemed to still hold in his temper.  She felt him collapse inward slightly and he nodded.

Again, Lucia was so grateful that she was the Legilimens in this relationship.  If Severus knew how much her heart was continuously breaking for the pair of them, it would smack too much of pity and he would doubtlessly exile her from his presence, cutting off his nose to spite his face.  Moving to go past her, Lucia tightened her grip.

“She will not mind if you sleep here.  It would be best for me to keep an eye on you both,” she whispered, knowing just how far she was now about to push her luck.

Severus ripped his arm out of her grip and glared at her, opening his mouth to probably say something angry and foul, but Lucia looked behind him, over his shoulder, to where Hermione slept.  Even without looking directly at him, she saw him deflate again. 

“I...I can’t,” Severus said, his voice angry still, but with an edge to it that she knew meant he was close to breaking.

He shouldered past her roughly and behind her she heard a door slam.  Looking at the sleeping woman on the bed, Lucia’s heart broke again and she found herself crying.  Working through the tears, she cast the right spells, made the right motions.  When she had finished, she let herself collapse under the weight of the stress and the terror and cried.  For the first time since she had found Giulia, she found herself praying again in desperate and wordless agony.  There was nothing to do but keep going to the end, but even more now she prayed that Hermione would survive.  There was more than one life on the line.

Hermione made it through March.  The pair looked like prisoner of war survivors.  Both had grown haggard and thin.  The fourth attack that had come on the last day of March had put Hermione to sleep for two days.  According to Hermione’s research, however, just the fact that she had survived this long meant that she was an impossibility according to magical law.  Even though they all looked like hell warmed over now, Lucia had hope for the first time.  There were only twenty more days to go.

The attack on April 6th was the worst so far.  From Lucia’s timing, it lasted a full minute and twenty seconds, leaving both exhausted and gasping.  And then Hermione collapsed into sleep and didn’t wake up.  April 10th, Hermione had another attack while still unconscious.  The steady drain that she had promised seemed to have begun.  Her magic stores were now depleting almost continuously and it grew worse anytime that Severus parted with her.  After that was realized, Severus was at her side constantly.  He only ate when both Daniel and Lucia bullied him into it.  He only slept when he collapsed forward onto her bed, pillowing his face with the hand he constantly held in his. 

April 13th Hermione had another powerful drain that left Severus and Lucia both shaking in the aftermath. Hermione was still blissfully asleep through it all.  Giulia had come by way of Daniel and relieved Lucia anytime she needed so that there was always someone with the pair, day and night. 

“Is there anything Daniel can be doing?” the elf whispered as Lucia was laying down on the common room sofa to sleep for a few hours.

“Nothing,” Lucia said, rubbing her exhausted eyes.  “We just have to wait.”

The edges of the deep emerald towel had now been frayed to nearly indecency.  Lucia blinked and squinted at him, as if fully seeing him for the first time.  The elf had lost weight.  His skin was nearly translucent and patches were scaly and unkempt.  What she had first attributed to neglect and mistreatment she knew now to be outward signs of his worry for his Master and Mistress.

“There is something,” she said finally, perking up the elf’s ears.  “You know how there is another Hermione Granger at this very moment somewhere in London?”

“Daniel knows,” the elf said excitedly.  “This is something that all the house elves in Hogwarts know.”

“Well,” Lucia said, not knowing at all if this is the right thing to do.  “There may come a time when Hermione’s situation is very grave.  You’ll have to help us.  If I tell you to go, you have to find the other Hermione.  You have to tell her to go immediately, but she can’t ever see you.  She can’t know that it was you, or me, or Severus, or even a house elf that told her to go.  Do you understand?”

The house elf nodded so vigorously that his ears made slapping noises against his head.  With one last glance at where she had left Giulia looking after the sleeping pair, the house elf snapped his fingers and disappeared.

The remaining days had them all wasting away.  Hermione’s condition was rapidly deteriorating   There was only so much nutrition that they could provide to her in her comatose state and twice Lucia suggested they bring in an outside Healer, only to be shot down.  They were doing all they could.  On the afternoon of the 18th, what Hermione had feared would happen finally came to pass.

“Sev!” Lucia shouted, startling the man into dropping the bread he had been eating.

Frantically, Lucia started working on the circle of magic that she had built to try and contain the magic during the drain periods.  It wasn’t an attack like they had been used to though.  She could see the magic just flowing and flowing away in a steady and slow drain.  Through and between chanting spells, Lucia cursed.  Severus held on and they fought, trying desperately to plug each hole in the sieve that had become Hermione’s inner magical stores.

Giulia helped them through the night.  Neither of them had rested and Lucia’s wand arm was nearly shaking with the strain.  Cool hands came to touch the back of her neck and the feel of Giulia helped to steady the magic that she was casting.  Giulia’s magic came to bolster her own.  Looking at Severus, she saw his eyes were closed tight.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was going through, all she knew was that he was still fighting.

“Nearly there,” she whispered.  He only nodded, a quick jerk of his head.  He hadn’t spoken more than three words together in days, though with her ability he hadn’t needed to.  For the first time, she started wondering if he had stopped talking because he simply couldn't anymore.

Through the night they fought, still trying to stem the flow.  They had made it to the dawn of April 20th, but Hermione wasn’t improving.  Lucia wished that she had had forethought enough to ask her precisely when she had gone back in time.  Midday, Hermione spasmed in a near seizure.  Severus gasped in panic as the hand he was holding became pale and nearly translucent.

“Daniel!” Lucia screamed in panic.  “Now!  Go now!”

She didn’t know if the elf heard, but the woman before her solidified slightly and Severus made a wounded noise that in anyone else she might call a sob.  Lucia looked at his kneeling form beside the bed, his two hands shaking as they desperately clasped her one between them.  Closing her eyes, Lucia turned off her emotions as she continued to move her wand, solidifying the spells at any point where there was a gap and she knew that it wouldn’t be enough. 

Minutes later,  Hermione’s body spasmed again and she tried not to fear the frantic murmuring at her side, ignoring the tears as they slipped emotionlessly down her face.  So caught up in her own movements was she, that it took the presence of Giulia’s thoughts touching her own before she opened her eyes.  Severus was still gripping the woman’s hand with white knuckles, pressing it tightly against his forehead, but it was the hand itself that held her attention.

Not willing to risk being wrong, Lucia ran her diagnostics non-verbally.  The leak was gone.  She was stable.  Her arms went numb and she collapsed backwards into Giulia’s waiting arms, nearly making her lover fall with her weight.  The clatter of her wand on the floor made him look up.

“We made it,” Lucia whispered.  “She’s here to stay.”

Severus looked at Hermione’s face in a panic, his face contorted as she knew that he was fighting to control his relief and all of the combined anguish of these past weeks.  Shakily, Lucia lowered herself into the chair that Giulia had wordlessly conjured.  Touching his hand, she winced and tried to block out his thoughts as she tried to pry his fingers from hers.

“I think you’ve broken some bones, _carino_ , let me see,” she whispered.

Severus stood, backing away quickly as if he’d been burned.  Lucia tried to ignore him as she examined the younger woman’s hand.  The clear bruises on her skin were rather terrible.  As she stooped to pick up her wand to mend them, she felt the hand on hers move.

“Ow,” Hermione whispered, her voice cracking.

Lucia saw the eyes open and find hers.  Lucia smiled, “Yes.  It’s over.  You survived,” then she chuckled, “Severus is fine.  He’s here too.  Ah, yes.  That’s your hand.  Just, give me a moment with it, alright?”

Waving her wand, Lucia whispered, “Episkey.”

Hermione winced and flinched, but then flexed her hand on hers with a smile.

“You’re welcome,” Lucia said, suddenly and completely exhausted.

Giulia helped her to standing and it took her a moment to realize that something was bothering her.  Looking over, she saw Severus standing against the far wall.  He looked nearly as wrecked as she felt, maybe worse, but he was just standing there with his hands tucked behind his back like he had no idea what to do.  His face was a hardened mask.  She sighed deeply, and she pushed away from Giulia with great reluctance to move in front of him.  She knew that Giulia would distract Hermione for her.

Before the doorway, not fully looking at him, she said,  “I know you’re thinking of something stupid.  Do _not_ mess this up.  She loves you.  You love her.  Be happy.  Nurse her back to health.  And then live.  Live and be happy and for once in your existence, don’t you dare ruin this.”

He looked at her, furious, but she stared him down.  All of the thoughts about how she was out of line or that he didn’t ruin things washed over her.  Giulia came up beside them and touched them both on the hand.  Lucia smiled at her and then looked back at Severus.

“We’ll take our leave.  Don’t contact us for three days or until you shag each other senseless, whichever comes later,” she said, and with that they left the room.

  
Severus turned to watch them go.  He listed for the tell-tale crack of Daniel Disapparating with them, before turning around to face Hermione.  For the first time in over a month they were once again alone.  And for the first time, in a long time, the threat of imminent death was gone.


	35. Dealing with the Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were two very different ways this would have gone, and unfortunately (or fortunately as the case may be) it went negative instead of the positive. Now we can only go up from here!

_ “I’ve been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeeded in controlling it.  I am angry nearly every day of my life...but I have learned not to show it; and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take me another forty years to do so.” ~ Little Women _

Severus suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable with her just looking at him.  He felt bare, exposed, and disgusting.  His hair was clumped and greasy.  There were several days growth on his face, and he was terribly, achingly, tired.  In fact, he was standing pressed back against the walls simply because he wasn't sure if he could stand on his own.

Hermione smiled at him.  It wasn’t a completely happy smile, tinged with concern and weariness as she was, but for some reason it filled him with an insane level of terror that he couldn’t seem to understand.  He gripped his hands into fists behind him, trying desperately to get a hold of himself as her smile faltered.

“It’s over,” Hermione said.  “We made it.”

Anger rose, unbidden, at her words.  He latched onto it like a rope to a drowning man.  Anger came, fluid, hot, warming him all over and chasing away the terror that had contained questions that he would rather not face.

“Yes,” he bit out angrily.  “So you did.  Still a funny thing that.  Putting your life on the line like you did.”

His gaze took in the room, anything but the frail and beautiful creature that was looking at him.  If he looked at her he might slip, lose his anger, fall across her lap and beg her to never leave him or something equally asinine and ridiculous.  He caught sight of her abandoned engagement ring and the fires of his anger were stoked once more.  His disgust with himself tripled and he used it how he always did.  He turned it outward.

“Did it even occur to you that I didn’t want this?” he asked harshly, his disgust dripping into his words, making them ugly.  He felt her hurt and somehow that only made him want to lash out all the more.  How dare she be hurt, when he had been nothing but hurting these past months.  How dare she feel hurt because of him now when he had been in the constant state of terror for weeks that he would be, yet again, a cause of death to someone he cared for.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, very carefully in a voice that sounded full of unshed tears.

He glared at her before looking back at the stupid little piece of stone and metal on her table.  He knew what he meant.  He had never wanted to have her risk her life for his, not when hers was so much more valuable.  Not when she had people who cared for her.  Not when she had a life.  Remembering that night though, that terrible night when he had nearly died, and all the feelings of anger and terror and betrayal, his lip curled in a snarl.

“I had the bloody antivenin, Granger,” he spat out instead.  “You were there.  Why the hell do you think I kept shooting looks at the blasted snake?  Me and Dumbledore’s idol, his Chosen One, hadn’t had our little tête-à-tête yet, had we?  Think I would have died and not completed my mission?  One simple Killing Curse, it was all that the Dark Lord had to do to kill me and ensure his legacy.  So I looked at the snake.  Gave him the bloody instrument of my death in his head.  Manipulated to the last.”

Severus felt manic.  Somewhere in the middle of his little speech he had pushed off from the wall and paced into the heart of the room.  He was picking up on some sort of emotions from her, but he couldn’t tell what they were.  He staggered, exhaustion sweeping him, and he dragged shaking hands through his hair.  He couldn’t stop.

“I died.  Was going to die,” Severus staggered back but the words kept coming, hot and intense in their anger.  “And then  _ you _ came.  Couldn’t just leave well enough alone.  Couldn’t just stop meddling.  Meddling, meddling, everyone just meddling.  I could have lived, Granger.  I  _ chose _ not to.  And you.  You, had no right, none!  No right at all to keep me from doing just that!”

He turned and slammed the door behind him, relished the noise it made, anger coursing through his blood and making it hot.  The raised adrenaline got him into his own bedroom, but not much further.  The hurt and pain that stabbed him through the chest drove him to his knees.  He caught the edge of his bed, but the spots he was now blinking out of his vision were growing ever more persistent.  He had been awake too long.

“God, what did I do?” Severus whispered and had one clear moment of agony to think about it, to vow to apologise in the morning, before he passed out on the floor.

For a moment, all Hermione could do was stare at the door, her heart trapped somewhere high in her chest, below her throat, making it hard to swallow or breathe.  His words were still ringing in her ears and she felt hot and weak.  Daniel appeared suddenly at the foot of her bed, wringing his hands.

“Can Daniel get anything for you Miss Granger?” he asked. 

Hermione looked at him, the sharp movement, jarring a tear from her eye that she hadn’t realized had gathered.  She was weak from hunger, but suddenly she felt nearly ill.  She cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes angrily.  

“Something to eat.  Something light,” she said, her voice still hoarse.  If she timed it, she had been out for weeks, she needed to start up her digestive system gently.  “Soup, if you could.  Broth, really.”

Daniel nodded, but didn’t disappear.  He just kept looking at her and then the covers as if afraid to speak.  It looked to her that the elf had been suffering a good deal as well.  He looked nearly as haggard as Severus.  Thinking about him made her hurt again.

“The H-Headmaster doesn’t,” Daniel started before wincing.  “Doesn’t mean it!”

He then abruptly vanished, making Hermione laugh a bit.  She winced, rubbing her chest.  Everything felt sore and stiff.  Drawing the covers off of her, she moved carefullyto swing her legs off the side of the bed.  She felt old and fragile.  Looking over at her dressing table, she was finally able to see what he had kept looking at.  Her ring.  She hadn’t moved it since Daniel had found it.  Very carefully she walked over to the dresser.  Picking it up, she turned it over and over in her hands as things began becoming clear.

Hermione was perfectly aware of how Severus had felt about her.  The kisses they had shared, the nights spent sleeping beside him as she had declined, the emotions had been strong and real and mirrors of her own.  There had been no declarations of love, not yet, but she knew now that that was the emotion she felt for him.  She would have even said as much earlier, if she had been sure that she would have survived. 

Closing her eyes, she looked at her bed.  The low chair next to it was a perfect reminder of where Severus must have spent the near entirety of her illness.  She sat in it now, still pondering his words and why the hell he had changed so much while she had been unconscious.  

She had felt terror from him.  Fear so intense that she had been sure that something terrible had happened or was about to happen, but then he had gotten angry.  Why had he gotten so angry?  She knew Severus Snape now.  She knew that he used anger, sometimes deliberately and sometimes not.  Why had the terror come to him at the time when everything was well?

Hermione sighed, rubbing her hands over her face.  She was exhausted and weak still and digesting the intricacies of this man was going to give her a headache.  Thinking back, though, she could easily imagine that this was the end of his rope.  The adrenaline giving out, the lack of sleep, all had been obvious looking at him.  She went and drew on her dressing gown, saddened by how tightly she could tie the belt.  She had lost weight.

“Food is ready, Miss,” Daniel said, appearing with a tray.

Hermione smiled and thanked him, taking it on her dressing table.  She had eaten in bed long enough.  With a sigh, she slowly started to eat, testing nearly every bite on her delicate stomach.  Food hadn’t tasted this good in a long time and it was wonderful.  Buoyed with feelings of gratitude for just being alive, it made thinking about the acerbic man with the fiery temper easier to bear.

Something about her being okay had scared him.  That was why her assurances had made him react worse, not better, she decided.  It all went back to the fear of where he would fit in in this new life that he had been gifted.  Unwillingly gifted, Hermione thought, the taste of her soup souring in her mouth.  Of that he had been clear.  But… these months hadn’t been a lie.  His kisses had been genuine.  The gentle and hesitant touches, the way he had always moved into her if she had rolled away in her sleep, they hadn’t been a lie.  

So it was the possibility of happiness that frightened him, not that he didn’t want it.  Oh, if it was fueled with some stupid nonsense like he didn’t deserve it she would throttle him.  Looking up, she saw herself smiling in the mirror.  And just like that, she had forgiven the stupid outburst.  She was practically laughing.  Dealing with Severus Snape.  She watched the smile widen into a grin.  That was what she would want to do for the rest of her life.  She laughed a bit at that.  

Scrutinizing her reflection though made Hermione frown.  She looked awful.  She needed a good shower, a change of clothes, and her hair needed a good brushing.  Several good brushings.  Looking at the engagement ring she had been toying with, she frowned.  And there were other things that needed seeing to.  She had survived, and now they would need to begin working their way back into the real world. 

After she had showered, changed, and started packing her essentials, she ventured into the common room.  She hadn’t seen Severus at all since his little tirade and she was glad of it.  Looking at the calendar, she realised with a start what day it was and she couldn’t help but laugh.  Easter, 2003.  If that wasn’t the perfect day for coming back from near death, she had no idea what was.

Hermione started by Flooing her things and Crookshanks to her flat.  She tidied up the spilled tea and broken kettle.  She collected the letters that she had left scattered on her table.  It felt almost wrong to be here after all this time.  She was grateful that she had tomorrow off to go over what she had been working on at the Ministry.  Even so, it would be so strange to step back into the work she had been doing over a year ago as if nothing had changed. At least working with Severus had decided that she was definitely taking up Falcona’s offer.  She needed the change.  She had done all the good that she was going to do at Magical Creatures.

Surveying the flat, she Flooed back once more to Hogwarts.  There wasn’t too much left of hers to take.  She wondered briefly if Severus would be staying here or somewhere else, but she knew that was going to be his decision.  Though they had been living together here, she wasn’t going to push him into a relationship of that level yet.  Besides, she still had lots of explanations to give before she made announcements of that nature.  And damned if she was going to let it go too far out of his hands.  She wanted to be proactive about all this, not reactive, and that meant starting conversations soon.

When she had finished moving all of her belongings back to her flat, Hermione found herself outside his bedroom door, fidgeting.  Biting her lip, she raised her hand to knock, but decided against it.  She let herself it.

Severus was asleep in his bed.  From the careful way the covers had been tucked around him, she guessed that a house elf had been at work in here.  The clothes he had been wearing were cleaned and laid out on the seat at the foot of his bed.  He looked exhausted, even in sleep.  A frown seemed permanently etched between his brows and there was still tension around his eyes and mouth.  Quietly, she crept over.  

Hermione was struck by how much she simply wanted to stay here, with him, anger and complicated emotions and all.  Just the two of them, hidden away from everyone, not having to deal with the consequences of her actions.  She also had to resist the urge to push the strands of black hair out of his face.  He needed the sleep and she didn’t want to risk waking him.  The warmth that radiated in her chest looking at him made her smile.  They’d make it, somehow, that she knew.  But for their future together to start, she had people to talk to.

The first place she went was France.  She hadn’t meant to tell her parents everything that had happened, but once she had seen the rather sorry state she was still in, the interrogation had lasted the better part of two hours.  Then she had made sure that they would be flying into England in two days and she told them that she’d get their house ready in the meantime.

Then it was back to her flat.  She knew that she should also check on Severus soon, but as she stepped clear of her make-shift fireplace, she nearly screamed.

“What the hell are you doing!” Hermione gasped out.

“Hermione!”

The pair of voices that greeted her were both surprised and relieved.  She hadn’t seen either of the Potters in months and suddenly seeing them unexpectedly here was unnerving.  She took in Harry and Ginny’s forms with something that bordered on madness as she smiled at them so hard it hurt.  Rushing forward she crushed first Ginny and then Harry into hugs.

“Merlin, Hermione what’s happened to you?” Ginny gasped out.

“Nevermind that, how did you get in my flat?” Hermione demanded, suddenly remembering that she should have been angry at her two friends breaking wards to get it.

“Hermione, we were expecting you at the Burrow for lunch, remember?” Ginny asked gently, her eyes clearly worried as she exchanged a glance at Harry.

“We…” Harry looked sheepishly back at his wife, “Well I broke in, and… Well we just thought.  We thought that maybe…”

“We thought you and Ron had had a row,” Ginny said finally, putting her fists on her hips and glaring at her husband.  “When we asked him where you were he said he had no idea what you were doing or why nowadays and if you didn’t feel the need to come then it was your choice.”

“More or less,” Harry said weakly.

Hermione rubbed circles into her temples.  She had forgotten about the Weasleys’ invitation.  Glancing at the clock, she realized that it meant that Harry and Ginny had obviously slipped out as soon as they could have politely to come and find her.

“We were worried about you,” Ginny said.  “I know you’ve been distracted by things lately.”

“It’s a long story,” Hermione said finally with a sigh.  “Very long.  Do you have the time now?”

“Should I go?” Harry asked, looking between the two women.

Hermione considered the pair in front of her.  It would be easier just talking to Ginny about this, she knew from past experience.  Though she would have to fess up to Obliviating her and she wasn’t sure how she or Harry would take that.  Swallowing hard, she looked down, thinking, twisting her fingers together.

“I’ll go,” Harry said with an air of finality after a minute.  “Floo me after okay?”

Harry leaned over and kissed Ginny on the cheek and left the two alone.  Ginny looked so concerned that it would have almost made her laugh if she wasn't so terrified of how she would react.  Finally, Hermione sat on her sofa with a sigh, inviting Ginny to do the same.

“What's going on, Hermione?” Ginny asked finally when Hermione didn't start talking.

“It’s been awhile now Ginny.  Honestly, I’ve been off since I went to the conference that you sent me to at Lovegood’s,” Hermione said, feeling a sense of deja vu as she spoke.  “The whole thing was about time rips, which I honestly thought originally was a total crock.  But, it turns out he witnessed one.  And at the heart of it was me and someone else.”

Ginny was frowning at her, very concentrated, as she tried to digest.  She felt a distant pang of emotions, panic she thought, but she tried to ignore it as she kept talking.

“I went back and saved someone from the war.  Lovegood wouldn’t tell me who, only that I had somehow ripped time by doing it,” Hermione said, rubbing circles on her chest.  Severus had woken and his growing anxiety was getting to her.  “And anyway, I figured out who it was a few months ago.  And I was getting ready to do it.”

“How?” Ginny asked, evidently coming to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be going back to save her brother quicker this time, without even saying anything.  “Weren’t all the Time-Turners destroyed?”

“Yes, but Xenophilius had one that turned back years.  At first, I wasn’t really sure if I would make it back, but I did,” she said finally, looking Ginny in the face.

“Are you okay?” Ginny asked, nodding at her hand which was still rubbing her chest.  “Are you still getting those things?”

“No!  Well not anymore, I figured that out, but Ginny, did you hear me?” Hermione asked.

“I did,” Ginny said, her eyes closing in pain for a moment.  “I’m really trying not to jump to any conclusions until you tell me, ‘Mione, but it’s getting harder all the time.  You managed to save someone.  Who?”

This was the part she had never gotten to with Ginny.  She had been reeling from discovering that she might die and she had never actually tested out how she would take the fact that she had saved Severus of all people.

“It’s probably not someone that you would be happy about,” Hermione said with a self-deprecating laugh.  “If that helps.  The past months of the Hermione here was like a treasure hunt trying to figure out who I had supposedly saved.  It was someone that had never had a body connected to a funeral, but someone we all assumed had died.  Someone who was at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Ginny opened her mouth, clearly to say for her to just spit it out before she closed it with a snap.  The redhead crossed her arms over her chest with a deep frown as her gaze turned inward and she started thinking.  Hermione thought she saw the moment of light dawn, but lost it because of the feelings she was abruptly drowning in.  She was a mess of agony, pain, and rage that ached so strongly that it drove her to her feet so suddenly that it made Ginny look up at her in confusion.

“I think I have to go,” Hermione said shakily, swaying a bit on her feet.

“No!”  Ginny gasped out, standing next to her and grabbing her arms to steady her.  “Hermione, you need to tell me.  You need to explain.  We’ve been worried about you for months, and now you’re finally about to fess up and you want to leave?  ‘Mione, you look like death warmed over.  Please.”

“I’m just not…” Hermione started, and was suddenly gripped by the ridiculous desire to cry hot angry tears and she shook her head to clear it.  “It’s Severus.  I saved Severus Snape.”

She barely registered Ginny’s surprise and acceptance before she plowed forward, “It’s more than that though.  My parents didn’t die, Gin, they’re alive.  He saved them.  We saved them.  They’re been abroad, hiding, until we got back.”

Ginny looked stricken, and was suddenly crying for her.  She was crushed into the younger woman’s arms and suddenly crying didn’t seem like such a ridiculous idea.  Abruptly, she was jerked backwards and held at arm’s length, Ginny glaring at her and scrutinizing her.

“What’s happened to you?  Merlin’s beard, Hermione you feel like you’ve lost at least a stone.  What happened?  Did he hurt you?  Where is he now?” she asked so rapid fire that she barely had time to adjust and laughed instead.

Hermione drew them both back down to the sofa and endeavored to start at the beginning.  She gave her as condensed a version of events as she could.  Ginny, bless her, barely interrupted the entire procedure.  The stories of capturing Death Eaters had her on the edge of her seat, but by the end, she was looking at her with a very suspicious look on her face.

“But you’ve been living with him for a year now?” she asked incredulously.

“It hasn’t been domestic bliss I assure you, and don’t laugh,” Hermione said as she laughed at herself.  “I know it’s strange, but it’s been good, really.  He’s…” Hermione faltered as she felt his anger again, hot in her stomach.  “He’s been wonderful.  It’s been a vacation that has been more intellectually challenging than the past two years work at the Ministry.  In between us fighting for our lives, of course.”

“Just like old times then,” Ginny said, heaping on the sarcasm.  

“Yeah,” Hermione said, rubbing the back of her neck wishing desperately that she knew what Severus was doing.  She should have left a note or something, she realised stupidly.

“And he’s still at Hogwarts, right under McGonagall’s nose?” Ginny asked, shocked before something occurred to her.  “Blimey!  The ghost sightings!  Has that been him?  God, Neville’s been going as mad as a hatter, but it’s been him?”

Hermione chuckled, “Yes, I suppose.  He found out about it when a first year came down at midnight.”

Ginny hid her head in her hands with a grin, before she finally looked up, her face very serious.

“What are you planning on doing now?” she asked.

There was something in the way she asked the question that made Hermione sure that she was asking about Ron.  Hermione looked away and bit her lip.

“Things aren’t the same.  I’m not the same,” Hermione whispered finally.  “It took a lot, but I’ve loved the research and discovery working with Severus, but it’s more than that.  I’m not happy with my job right now at all, Ginny.  I haven’t been for awhile.  And Ron… He just never got it.  He ran from school.  He ran from the work and the books and he’s a bloody fantastic Auror and he loves it.  The last few months with him though, they were pretty awful.”

“Before you left and went back in time,” Ginny said seriously.

“Right,” Hermione said, looking at her hands.

“That wasn’t entirely his fault, though,” Ginny said, making Hermione’s eyes snap up and she immediately felt defensive.  Ginny held up her hands.  “You have to admit, you were being secretive, distant, and overall in your own world.  It wasn’t like you were making an effort to include him or even to make an empty offer to take him with you.  What would have happened if you hadn’t made it back?  It sounded like you barely did.”

Suddenly, simply leaving letters seemed like a very weak excuse and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say it to her friend looking at her with such an earnest expression on her face.  Suddenly she felt ashamed of herself, seeing just how much she was at fault for the problems she had been having with Ron the last few months.

“But now what?” Ginny said finally, making Hermione look down.  “Something’s changed.  Hell, you’re a year older than all of us and you survived that year living with Snape of all people!  When are you going to tell him?”

Hermione fidgeted with her fingers and finally drew the ring out of her jeans pocket.  She bit her lip, staring at it and purposefully not looking at Ginny.

“At first, I couldn’t wear it.  I was the Penelope Grant who came to live in the Room of Requirement before the final battle.  I couldn’t help it.  And then I had to run errands and brew potions, so I just kept it around my neck.  Then when I put it on again and I felt so guilty.  And then…” Hermione sighed.

“Why did you feel guilty?” Ginny asked, her voice careful and Hermione very purposefully didn’t give off any changes in her face or body.  Finally, she heaved an affected sigh and looked up.

“I was replaying all of our differences Gin,” Hermione said.  “I had time and distance and all I could suddenly see when I thought of my fiance was the way he would get angry about me reading and the last few rows and it would just make me itchy.  I didn’t want to go back to that and then I would feel so guilty for feeling that way when Ron wasn’t even there to defend himself.”

“Do you want to work it out?” Ginny asked, and Hermione felt her heart constrict painfully.  There it was, the question she had been dreading.

“I don’t know,” Hermione lied weakly.  “I think we need to talk, but the me now is even further away from him than the me that left to travel back in time.”

Ginny sighed, but Hermione was comforted by the fact that her friend seemed more resigned than surprised or hurt.

“I’ve been braced for this for ages, but it doesn’t feel real yet,” Ginny said, and Hermione felt a bit sick.

“What do you mean?”Hermione asked.

“It’s partly his temper, but more than that, ‘Mione, you both were circling around each other for so long it bordered on silly sometimes.  I mean, your advice to me on Harry was good, but with Ron, it didn’t seem to matter.  Nothing would move him.  Hell, we had to give him a swift kick so he’d finally propose,” Ginny said, glaring off into the distance before seeming to realise what she’d said.  “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“What did you mean it like then?” Hermione asked, suddenly warming to anger.

“I only meant..  Ugh,” Ginny muttered something under her breath.  “He always wanted more money.  More money for a bigger ring.  More money for a house.  More money so that he could provide for you and kids.  He just never felt enough.”

Hermione’s anger deflated faster than it had grown and she felt guilty all over again.

“It’s not your fault,” Ginny hastened to add.  “He was always like that.”   
  
“I know,” Hermione said, picking at invisible lint on her knee, “But imagine now what this is going to do to him.  If he didn’t feel enough now…”   
  


“Don’t give yourself that much credit,” Ginny said.  “He’s a big boy now, he’ll be fine.  He’s been braced for it, I think, just the way you’ve been recently and how we’ve been around you both.”

“You don’t hate me?” Hermione asked quietly, dreading the answer and yet still needing to ask.

“Hate you!  Merlin, no!  God!” Ginny said quickly, immediately scooting over and crushing her into a hug.

“Angry at the pair of you for robbing me of the best sister-in-law a girl could hope for, maybe,” Ginny said, pulling back finally and swatting her on the arm.  “But I think this would have happened regardless of you deciding to change time.  Something would have happened.  Anyway.  We need to talk about Snape though.  I need more details here.”

Hermione couldn't help the small timid smile that formed as she started talking, “He's had it as hard as all of us.  Worse than Harry at the beginning,” she looked meaningfully at Ginny who winced sympathetically.  “But it's been better.  A lot b-” 

Abruptly she stopped talking.  The constant emotional turmoil that had been the background of the entire conversation came to a rage once again, before it turned into some other ugly emotion before it completely disappeared.  Hermione stood in a panic.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, terrified at the look on her friend's face.

Hermione shook her head at her and instead tried to focus her concentration on the person she was about to call, “Daniel.  Daniel!”

Nothing.  There was no elf, no response, nothing.  

“Hermione, what's going on?” Ginny asked, her voice rising near to panic.

“I can't, hold on,” Hermione said, dashing for the bit of Floo powder on her mantle.  “I'll explain later!”

Hermione threw the powder into the fire, turning it emerald before walking in and stating clearly, “Hogwarts dungeon!”

She was thrown from the flames with such violence that she hit Ginny hard and the pair were knocked into the couch.  Hermione was practically shaking now, pushing off from Ginny with hardly an apology as she stuck her head into the still green flames and said clearly, “Headmistress McGonagall's office.”

The dizzying feeling subsided as she looked around the office area, still in full panic mode and calling out, “Minerva! Are you in?  It's urgent!”

Hermione heard the whispering and muttering of the portraits above and around her on the wall passing the message around.  Her heart pounding in her throat, she waited, a kindly witch taking the time to tell her that Minerva was on her way.  Craning her neck up to see the older witch as she approached, Hermione could tell she had evidently caught her at a bad time.

“Hermione, please explain.  Now is not the appropriate time for-” Minerva said quietly, her eyes darting to the side to clearly indicate that she was not alone but Hermione didn't care.

“Please Minerva, it could be life and death, may I step through?” Hermione pleaded.

A sly smile and narrowed eyes met hers before Minerva nodded finally and stepped backwards.  Hermione pulled herself from the flames and looked apologetically at Ginny as she grabbed another pinch of powder.

“Always life or death situations with us, isn't it?” Ginny said ruefully.  “Go.  I'll hold the fort down here for you.  Ron can wait.”

When Hermione stepped through, she saw a finely robed man standing in front of Minerva's desk.  Even if she hadn't known who he was, he screamed old-world, pure blood from every fiber of his expensive robes.  The last time she had been to Hogwarts, Minerva had told all of the difficulties she had been having with the new chairman of the Board of Governors, Albertus Greenbriar.  He was also the bane of her friend Falcona’s existence.

“You'll have to forgive me, Albertus,” Minerva said with grave dignity.  “But as you can see, there is a matter of grave importance that I must deal with immediately.  We will have to adjourn this meeting for now.”

The man's eyes narrowed at her and his nostrils flared unpleasantly when he took in Hermione's state.  The look he gave her, as he panned down to her rough shoes, was something very similar to how an aristocrat of old would look at a peasant begging, she was sure.  She ignored him, instead turning her gaze to Minerva and keeping it there until she showed him out.

“We're not done with this, Minerva,” Albertus said as a parting shot.  “Believe me.”

“I had very little doubt,” Minerva muttered in a pinched voice after the door shut had shut behind him.

“Merlin, girl, I don't know whether to hex you or thank you,” Minerva said, finally turning to her visitor, looking at her piercingly over her spectacles as if finally and truly seeing her.  “You look half-starved.  Can I get you something to eat?”

 

“No,” Hermione said quickly.  “But there is something.  Could you ask a house elf named Daniel here?”

 

Minerva's eyebrows rose. “Daniel, you say?  Does this have something to do with your work?  It seems to strange they have you working away on a Sunday.”

 

“Nothing like that,” Hermione said quickly again.  “Just, if you could summon him now? Please.”

 

“And you will tell me all you're able straight afterwards?” she asked.

 

Hermione nodded, trying not to betray how frantic her thoughts were now that she could no longer sense Severus in her mind.  She had no idea how much she had come to feel him there until she was suddenly deaf and blind to him.  The elf was summoned finally and Hermione gasped.

Daniel had a lump on his forehead the size of an egg that was already a dark blueish purple.  Hermione fell to her knees in front of him and went to touch it, but he flinched and wouldn't look at her, instead turning to Minerva.

“The Headmistress is needing something from Daniel?” the elf asked in a squeaky voice.

“Tell him to acknowledge me and answer my questions please,” Hermione said quietly, already ready to cry.  This was a ridiculous day and far too full of crying already.  After she had, Hermione asked, “Daniel, where is he? Is he all right?”

The house elf kept shaking its head, ears flapping hard against skin making small flapping noises.  Hermione tried not to sob before she knelt in front of him.

“Do you know where he is?” More negative head shaking. “Was he alright?” Negative.  “Was he at least healthy?” Negative. “Alive?” Finally he nodded.

Hermione practically sagged in relief.  “He's told you not to speak with me?” A nod.  “But he's left his rooms?” Another nod.  “Did he make that lump?” Vigorous shaking in the negative.  “Did he leave by Floo?” A nod.  “And you didn't hear where to?” Negative.  “Did he take anything with him?” Here, Daniel teared up and nodded.  “Did you see him change the wards?” A nod.  “Did he change the fireplace?” A nod.  “What about the tapestry, did he change that?”

Hermione watched as he thought hard.  Finally, he shook his head with a timid smile.  She filed the information away for later.

“Could you take me to where he is?” Vigorous head shaking.  “What about another house elf?  Could any of them?” No, again.  “Is there anyone who knows where he is?” A hesitant nod.  “Human?” A nod.  Hermione swallowed hard.  “Is it because the place is Secret Kept?” Daniel nodded, his eyes tearing and Hermione sat back on her heels.

After a moment or so of silence, with Hermione too shocked to speak, Minerva looked between the pair with narrowed eyes and pinched lips.

“Now, I believe you will be starting this tale at the beginning,” she said, managing to sound both curious and cross at the same time.

Hermione knew that Severus was at least temporarily safe, but her heart rate had still not returned to normal.  When she stood shakily, it was with her eyes locked with Daniel’s.  He looked so tortured and distraught that she wished that she could promise him that everything was going to be alright.

“I’ll get to him somehow,” Hermione said, trying to put more confidence in her voice than she felt.  “I’ll talk to his Secret Keeper, okay?  It’ll be okay.”

The house elf practically sagged in relief as Minerva dismissed him with the request to bring up tea and sandwiches.  Hermione didn’t realize how little she’d eaten today and it was already past noon.  Then Minerva made her start talking.  Of all the people she knew that she would have to eventually tell, Minerva had been unfortunately low on the list.  She asked very few questions and wiped at her eyes under her glasses several times.

“So Severus is alive?” she said with wonder, looking off over her shoulder.  Her face constricted briefly and she looked away.

As much as Hermione wanted to help her former Head of House to deal with the obvious shock, the panic and restlessness was on the rise again and she knew that she had to move on to the next step.  The step that Severus must have been sure that she wouldn't make, no matter what, even if she figured out what she needed to do.  But she had to move quickly, or risk him deciding to moving locations again.  The problem wasn't who she needed, but who would be more receptive.  She was fairly certain they all hated her equally.

“Minerva, do you know where the Malfoys are living?  Are they all still at Malfoy Manor?” Hermione asked.

Minerva looked slightly shocked at her question, shaking herself a bit.  When she recovered, she narrowed her eyes at her over her spectacles and pursed her lips.

“I believe Lucius and Narcissa still reside there, yes, though I believe Draco has left.  If the rumors are to be believed, I believe he is engaged to be married and living with his future wife,” she said before continuing sharply.  “Why is it that you wish to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone remember why she's asking what she's asking? Next is more characters to throw into this crazy AU verse! :)


	36. The Nest of Snakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a chapter with this many Slytherins. The amount of nonverbal communication is both fun to write and dizzying. There's also two Cursed Child moments, but if you blink or don't tilt your head sideways you'll miss them.

__ “Now and then there's a light in the darkness   
Feel around till you find where your heart went   
There's a weight in the air but you can't see why, why” ~ Pieces by Rob Thomas

 

The house that her search eventually landed her at was impressive.  Impressive was actually putting it mildly.  In town it was known as the Greengrass Estate, but she knew it to actually be the family’s summer home.  Minerva hadn’t known anything, really, about Malfoy’s engagement, and it was only through her searching out his address that she tied him to the Greengrass family.  She would have thought Lucius and Narcissa would have had the announcement that Daphne and Draco were engaged plastered over every pureblood news rag they could.

Staring at the ornate brass knocker, Hermione realized exactly how much she didn’t want to do this.  She could picture Daphne now, with the rest of Pansy Parkinson’s gang, and immediately she felt her stomach drop.  She had met her sister through their jobs at the Ministry and Astoria had seemed the complete opposite of her.  It would only be wishful, thinking that Daphne would have grown into the same person.  But, this was Malfoy she was going to see.  Daphne Greengrass would be the perfect person for him.

Before she lost her nerve, Hermione let the knocker fall heavily on the door two times.  Not even twenty seconds passed before the door swung open by magic and revealed a tiny house elf standing demurely in the foyer.  Her outfit seemed to consist of a very prim and lacy lavender pillowcase that she had belted at her waist with what looked like torn aprons strings.  Her ears were pinned back neatly with a matching lavender pin.

“Can I help Miss?” the house elf asked after looking Hermione up and down.

For a moment, Hermione flushed under the scrutiny.  She knew that she still looked undernourished and a bit wild.  She had only paused to tame her hair and try to freshen her make-up before heading here after being at Hogwarts again.  Her sense of urgency hadn’t been fully diminished.

“My name is Hermione Granger. I’m here to see Miss Greengrass and Master Malfoy,” Hermione said as formally and politely as possible.  “There is a small family matter that is in rather desperate need of Draco’s attention and I’ve come to ask for his help.”

“Miss is expected?” the house elf asked skeptically.

“No,” Hermione said.  “It’s only just happened and I wanted to come and tell him in person as quickly as possible.”

“Follow Piddy, Miss Granger,” the elf said finally and, turning, led her into the house, the door closing behind them.

The nerves began rising as soon as she was left in the sitting room.  Every version of the speech she would be making to either Draco or Daphne felt flat and insufficient.  Where was the Hermione that would only take action after weeks of preparation?  Her panic over Severus was dominating her entire mind and the desperation was fueling every single one of her actions.  A female voice followed by a low elf voice in the hall outside made her freeze.  Hermione tucked a last curl away and straightened her shoulders, bracing herself as she turned around to face the inevitable pureblood scrutiny.

“Astoria?” Hermione gasped in complete surprise, forgetting in that moment her objective.  “But where is Daphne?”

“Daphne?” Astoria looked completely flabbergasted and in that second everything clicked for Hermione and left her gaping, mouth slightly open, at the woman in front of her.

All of the work conversations came back to her, every time the younger woman had been vague or had deliberately left out a name for her stories about her mystery man.  She had thought she had known her, had rejoiced at finding a Slytherin pureblood witch with views so similar to her own, and yet she had been more Slytherin than she had ever guessed!

“I would expect Daphne is traipsing about Germany with Theodore Nott if I had any guess,” Astoria said, her wry grin saying clearly that she had figured out exactly what Hermione had been thinking.

Hermione sat down on the sofa behind her and Astoria took the chair opposite with a little laugh.

“Draco…” Hermione whispered as she replayed all of the conversations and replacing the wizard she had imagined with a grown-up version of the bane of her adolescence.  “Wait, Draco?  Paris?  He did that thing with the…”

“The fairy roses, yes,” Astoria said, sending herself into hysterics at the look of shock on Hermione's face.

“And you never told me, the whole time,” Hermione said with wonder.

“Can you blame me?” Astoria asked, the wry grin back on her face.

“Definitely not,” Hermione replied, shaking her head with wonder again.  “Though knowing all you've told me, it makes me think better of him.”

Astoria frowned finally, the amusement chased away and Hermione sobered, finally remembering her reason for coming.

“Is Draco here now?” she asked.

Astoria’s face soured and she shook her head, “He's at Malfoy Manor with his family.”

Hermione's eyes flicked quickly to the impressive engagement ring on her finger and Astoria’s face twisted again into a grimace.

“It's not something for you to be worrying about.  Especially since you told Piddy that it was an emergency.  I couldn't understand how you would know before them,” Astoria said, confused.

“It's… well it's a long story,” Hermione said, her anxiety beginning to rise even as she thought about Severus alone in the house without anyone.  She stifled her panic though and kept it from her face.  He would be fine.  “I would rather tell it once.  Do you know when he'll be back?”

Astoria glanced at the mantle clock and the irritated look crossed her face again.  She stood and paced to the windows.

“He said he would be back five minutes ago,” Astoria said.  “I wouldn't put it past them to try and keep him there in the hopes that…”

Astoria cut herself off and bit her lip firmly.  She gave herself a shake.  Hermione watched, almost transfixed as she seemed to transform, back straightening, chin lifting, her face and expression smoothing to neutral pleasantness.  She nodded with a smile to someone outside the window before whirling to face Hermione, wand out.

“Just trust me, this will help everything go smoother,” she said in a rush and Hermione felt magic smooth over her face in a cool rush and her hair adjust itself up and behind her, away from her face.

The door opened in the hallway and the two women heard Piddy’s voice louder than it had been before.

“Welcome home Master Draco, greetings Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” the house elf said and Hermione froze, meeting Astoria's calm face with panicked eyes, “Miss Astoria is waiting in the sitting room.  Please follow me.”

“Can you say what you need to say to Draco in front of his parents?” Astoria asked quickly under her breath and Hermione nodded.  “Good. Follow my lead.”

Piddy opened the doors, her eyes clearly nervous as she looked at Astoria.  Draco followed closely behind.  Hermione saw the apologetic look he shot to her friend before he looked at her in surprise.  Recovering quickly, Hermione watched a mask snap into place and it would have unnerved her if she hadn't been around Severus for so long.  Mimicking Astoria's posture, she only just made it when the Malfoys entered the room.

Lucius Malfoy was very much the same as ever.  There was more silver in the blonde hair that framed his face, the same tightness around his eyes and superior tilt to his head, though there were more lines around his eyes and mouth than Hermione remembered.  Beside him, Narcissa was just as tense and reminded Hermione of a cat.  She seemed to take in everything, but still think everything was beneath her notice.

“Miss… Granger was it?” Lucius drawled.  “What a… pleasant surprise.”

The look he gave Draco was enough to curdle milk.  Narcissa had taken her husband's arm and seemed determined not to notice her.  Her gaze seemed to be completely taken with measuring up Astoria.

“It's quite fortuitous that you came,” Astoria said calmly, even sweetly, before her eyes fell to Piddy.  “Piddy, tea for our guests.”

Astoria set to quick work, neatly ignoring all as she drew the two largest chairs up for her future in-laws, gesturing Draco over to a third chair and seating herself on a chair next to him, leaving Hermione to either sit on the sofa or stand.

“Hermione here actually had come to tell Draco something,” Astoria said, the affected voice she was using nearly unnerving Hermione.  “She thought it actually an emergency, so I do hope you'll indulge us.”

Hermione looked over everyone quickly before clenching her hands together behind her back to steady herself.  Draco lounged in his chair looked bored, Lucius was a mix of amused and disgusted, and Narcissa was her usual haughty self, actively ignoring her.  Briefly, Hermione considered her options.  She wasn't good at Slytherin games, that much she knew.  But she knew at least one tactic that had yielded good results against the mask like those in front of her.

“I need your help,” Hermione began, taking them all in, though ending on Narcissa.

“Shockingly not a surprise Granger,” Draco drawled, though his eyes flicked to Astoria who had stiffened marginally at his words.

“Severus Snape is alive,” Hermione said.

The reaction was immediate.  Narcissa immediately looked at her, Lucius stiffened in his seat, Draco sat up, and Astoria let out an audible breath.  Now she was sure she had their attention.

“He's been living hidden at Hogwarts for the past few months, but I have reason to believe he might be in danger.  And if he thinks he's in danger, there's only one other place I could think of him going,” she said and looked meaningfully at Narcissa.

Hermione saw her lips thin and she looked at her husband.  She watched his lips twitch and his eyebrows constrict.  Hermione's heart panged as she watched them.  She envied them she realized.  And she missed Severus.  So much had changed.  Before she got so ill they had only just started getting close.  The intimacy of feeling his emotions in her head was almost what she was looking at now.  For a moment, she wondered if the Malfoys had done something similar on purpose to what she and Severus had done accidentally.

“Let us suspend our disbelief for a moment.  How is it that you learned of this?  How was he supposed to have survived for this long without anyone knowing?” Lucius asked finally.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you any of that.  Not unless you agree to help,” Hermione said.

“And why would I agree to that?” Lucius asked through lips that barely parted.

“I beg your pardon sir, but I wasn't speaking to you,” Hermione said, a perverse pleasure filling her as red tinted the man's cheeks.  “Mrs. Malfoy, I know that you still keep the secret for his house.  It's your help I would need.”

Narcissa stood and paced to the windows.  She seemed unaffected, but with the way that both Lucius and Draco were watching her, she knew that the older woman was more disturbed than she let on.

“Hermione,” the quiet and sincere voice made every head turn towards Astoria.  “Should you perhaps start at the beginning?  If there's time?  You did say it was a long story.”

Hermione looked at her audience and she knew that she had their attention.  They seemed to have accepted the fact that he was alive almost too well.  She would have been more skeptical at least, but she didn't stop to question her good fortune.

“You may recall there being an incident a few years ago,” Hermione had to stop herself and try again, channeling Severus’s voice whenever he had discussed traumatising events in a bland way.  “At the Ministry.  All of the Time Turners there were destroyed.  Or, at least I thought they had been.”

Hermione saw Lucius’s nose flare and the red had appeared again in his cheeks and it was all she could do not to grin.  Let him choke on the way teenagers had bested him and made him look bad in front of his old master.

“It turns out that there was another, one that could go back years,” Hermione said.

“The  _ point, _ Granger,” the older Malfoy hissed.  “The short way if you please. This is growing tedious and my patience is growing thin.”

“Someone went back in time to the Battle of Hogwarts and saved him,”  Hermione said, losing her cool and snapping at him.  “He was hiding at the castle, but now he’s gone.  It was my understanding that you were friends.  Are you going to help me or not?”

Lucius stood quickly and it was only then that she realized how close she had gotten to him.

“I don’t think I like the way you-”

“We’ll help.”

Everyone whirled around to Narcissa who had interrupted her husband.  Turning around, the woman had relaxed some of the haughty expression and Hermione felt that for the first time she was catching a glimpse of the real woman underneath.  She swallowed hard and had to close her eyes for a moment, desperately forcing memories back.  The last time she had been in a room with the Malfoys had seen her screaming and writhing on the floor.  It wasn’t easy to forget or forgive, and yet here she was again in spite of it all.

When she opened her eyes and met the cool blue ones of Draco's mother, Hermione tried to remember that she had only been trying to save her family by the end, like Harry said.  It wasn't forgiveness, not by a long shot, but she needed the older woman's help.  For Severus’s sake.  And by God he was important enough for her to deal with Malfoys.  It was the strength of her near desperation, fear, and anger that kept her holding her ground.  As Narcissa’s eyes smiled slightly, Hermione realized too late what Severus had said before.  About how Narcissa had helped to teach him Occlumency along with Lucia.

“We owe him this, Lucius,” Narcissa said over Hermione's head.

“So he did survive?” Lucius asked.  

Hermione didn't look at either of them, she was working hard to keep her heart from pounding its way out of her chest.  The woman had been in her head!  Shouldn't all that time with Severus at least given her experience enough to recognize it?  She took a deep breath, mastering herself before looking up.  The fury was still there at the older woman’s absolute gall, before she remembered that Narcissa had agreed before whatever she had picked out of her brain.  If she was getting what she wanted, she wasn't about to make waves now.

“I assume you will continue to hold the information ransom until we arrive?” Narcissa asked her.

Hermione gave her a tight smile and nodded, now refusing to look her in the eyes.  Again, Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other.

“And we're supposed to just wait here?” Draco asked.  “Hmph.”

Seeming not to care either way, Draco slumped so he could rest his head back on his chair, legs stretching out, ankles crossed and hands folded over his stomach.  They were all disturbed by the reappearance of Piddy the elf setting down tea things.

“It might be for the best,” Hermione said.

“Yes girl, do make yourself comfortable.  I'm sure we won't be long,” Lucius said, offering his arm to his wife.

“What?” Hermione asked, dumbstruck.

“If he is there, I'm sure we will be able to get the story from him directly.  And, if not,” Lucius said, gesturing to her with his lip curling unpleasantly.  “We will know where to find you.”

The abruptness of them Disapparating made Hermione sway slightly where she stood.  She had been so counting on seeing Severus soon, on assuring herself that he was well and stopping herself worrying, that when she heard a low whimper it took her a moment to realise that she had made the sound.  Hands gripped her forearms and she started, looking up into Astoria's concerned eyes.

“I said, are you alright?” Astoria asked.

It took tea, a sandwich, and Astoria gently rubbing her back to bring her at least half out of her catatonic state.  She hadn't even remembered sitting on the sofa.  Her mind just couldn't let go of the near panic that it had been in for most of the day.  And she had been so close to relief.  Setting the cup down, Hermione looked around.

“What happened to Draco?” she asked numbly.

“He'll be back,” she replied.  “I figured you'd want a moment to get yourself together.”

Hermione blinked at her.  She couldn't understand what was wrong with her.  Everything felt funny.  She kept looking at the spot that the Malfoys had disappeared from like they would suddenly reappear.  Perhaps even with… no.  She wouldn't.  She couldn't think.  Not about that.  Not when there were still bad possibilities.  No.

“When did it happen?” Astoria asked gently.

“When did what happen?” Hermione asked, looking at the mantle clock now.

“You and Headmaster Snape.”

Hermione jumped so violently she jammed her knee against the corner of the low table in front of her.  Seeing the calm and yet slightly amused face across from her, she was finally able to disconnect from whatever trap her brain had been cycling in.

Astoria smiled, “So I wasn't the only one with a secret Slytherin prince?”

“I…you… I haven't,” Hermione sputtered.

“Someone call me?” Draco asked, strolling into the room.

Immediately Hermione stiffened, but the arrogant mask that he had been wearing in front of his parents was gone.  He plucked a biscuit off of the tray before leaning over to give Astoria a kiss on the cheek and then retreat back to his chair across from them.

“So h’vyou 'sked 'er?” Draco asked around a bite of biscuit.  “If they were shagging?”

“What?” Hermione squeaked, looking frantically between the pair.  “We, we had never, we didn't.”

Draco suddenly changed again, the flippancy melted away into concern as he leaned forward, eyes flicking to Astoria.  Hermione had thought she was panicking before, but now, being called out and completely unprepared, she couldn't understand.

“Granger, it was a joke,” Draco said, getting her to look at him.  “Relax.  Everyone knows you and that weasel are together.”

Even the slight to Ron didn't faze her.  Nothing seemed to breach the panic.  Astoria squeezed her hands and she turned to look at her.  She wasn't pretending to be anything other than what she was and the concern on her face made her think that she must really look like a fright.

“Why don't you start at the beginning?” Astoria asked gently.  “Like they said, you probably won't have to tell them anything.”

“I…,” Hermione looked up at Draco.

Draco gave her a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.  Looking at Astoria, he sighed and stood.

“I'll go,” he said finally, walking back to Astoria and giving her a quick kiss on her cheek.  “Just call me when she leaves, Tori.”

“You,” Hermione swallowed hard as the pair looked at her.  “You don't have to leave.  Like you said, your parents will know everything anyway soon.”

Draco looked at Astoria, sharing another one of those looks that seemed to have more communication than should be humanly possible.  When he went to sit again, he looked uncomfortable.  Astoria cleared her throat and he sighed.

“They would probably not tell me if that's what you're worried about,” Draco said.  “I'm not, we're not, exactly high up in their good graces just now.”

“Why?” Hermione asked and Draco chuckled, looking at his fiancee.

“Me, mostly,” Astoria said, and Draco frowned at her, looking like he was about to speak, but she shushed him by waving a hand at him.  “I voiced my opinions a bit too much about how Muggles are not scum and pureblood or Muggleborn makes not a wit of difference.”

Hermione frowned because she had seen Draco relax at her words and wondered if that was really all of it.  Realizing now that she was relaxing in their presence, she had a thought, a small stretching her face as she turned to look at Draco.

“You can stay if you answer a question for me,” Hermione said, enjoying watching him stiffen in his chair.  “Where did you get the fairy roses?”

Both women almost immediately dissolved into laughter at the completely flabbergasted look on Draco's face.  To his credit, he recovered quickly, looking at Astoria in mock reproach.

“You told  _ her _ ?” he demanded.

“She didn't know it was you until now,” Astoria said, still giggling.

The story came out slowly.  Hermione detailed enough, but left out how badly the  _ Mors  _ withdrawal had been and the connection that she had accidentally formed with him.  She told them about the Time Rip, about hiding in Hogwarts, the Death Eaters, his articles, and living with him, but left out Lucia and her heart condition.  Her biggest omission was of course, what she felt for him, what she  _ thought _ he felt for her, and the kisses.

“And so today he just left for no reason whatsoever?” Astoria asked when she stopped.

“There was a reason, I just,” Hermione looked down at her hands in her lap.

“You survived living with Headmaster Snape for nearly a year.  There must have been a significant reason now that he left without letting you be able to find him without help,” Draco said.  “I'm assuming a row of some kind?”

Hermione looked away.  Now that she had gone as far as she could, she could face how much she was at fault.  She should have gotten back sooner.  He shouldn't have woken up alone.  All of her things gone.  And after he had yelled and said hurtful things when he had been the one hurting.  

Astoria whispered, “Finite incantem.”

Draco’s sharp intake of breath made her look up.  He was staring at her in a mix of revulsion, confusion, and concern.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Something else definitely happened, didn't it?” Astoria asked.

“Because, offense meant here Granger,” Draco said, the shock now fading into even more concern.  “You look like shite.”

Hermione laughed wetly and was about to respond when an Apparition crack sounded from the foyer and Draco jumped to his feet.  Terror shot through her as she stood with Astoria's arm around her, bracing herself for the reappearance of the Malfoys and whatever news they would bring.

The house elf had reappeared with new tea things before quickly disappearing at Lucius and Narcissa's entrance.  They looked just as composed, though Hermione thought Narcissa's eyes were a bit red and her make-up a little less than perfect.  Lucius smirked at them all.

“Well?” Draco asked, the first to break.

“Severus is indeed alive,” Lucius said, “Though a bit out of sorts perhaps.  He seemed,” here he turned to look at Hermione, “grateful, that it was us.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop and her hand tightened on Astoria's steadying arm.

“Indeed.  He did say he would take visitors, Draco, and I suggest you go with your mother to speak your thanks and well wishes.  Tomorrow though.  He has plans to interview for a position early tomorrow morning,” Lucius continued, his voice the verbal equivalent of a swagger.  “Now however, I believe there were more personal family matters to discuss today.”

Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard it.  Nearly shaking now, she brushed past Astoria and headed to the front door.  She barely heard the other witch say something to the Malfoys behind her.  Astoria had to trot to catch up.

“Hermione, wait, wait,” she said grabbing her arm.

“You heard him, Severus doesn't want to see me.  He's fine.  He's setting up his own life.  I'll just leave him to it,” Hermione said numbly.  She had the sneaking suspicion that if she left company, she might just break down completely and start crying.  She looked terrible when she cried.

“Do you know where he's interviewing?” Astoria asked.

“Not a clue,” Hermione said, roughly tugging her arm from Astoria so hard she nearly stumbled, blinking spots out of her eyes.

“You should find out,” she replied forcefully, before looking behind her worriedly.  “I'll help if I can, but I have my own set of problems currently.”

Hermione barely heard her.  It took walking out down their long drive for a good ten minutes before she felt confident enough to Apparate home.  By then, she just wanted to sleep, but that was going to have to wait.  She had felt herself trip some kind of magic when she Apparated into her flat.  

“Crap,” she whispered to the empty room; now she had to figure out who had left it and why.  As if her day hadn't been long enough.

Sure enough, not even a full minute later, there was a knock on her door.  Hermione felt like shite.  A glance at the clock on the wall showed that it was now past dinner. She had barely eaten, she was emotionally drained, and she didn't want to deal with anyone right now.  She ran fingers through her hair and fixed her tail as the person knocked again.  She was definitely missing Daniel right now, the thought of making herself anything right now seemed monumentally difficult.  

“Hermione?  Are you alright? 'S just me, can I come in?”

Hermione closed her eyes and caught herself on the wall as she swayed.  It was the moment she had most dreaded and yet most wanted to reach.  Ron was outside.


	37. Back to the Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay guys! This one goes out to Lily who gave me a very nice reminder to just commit and finish the chapter.
> 
> Lily, these two are not done just yet, don't worry!!

_ “It was always the becoming he dreamed of, never the being.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald _

 

Hermione walked to the door with one hand on the wall to keep herself steady.  She still felt shaky, hungry, tired, and stressed, but for what she needed to do now, looking pitiful could actually be an asset.  Reaching the door, she opened it to find Ron had just turned away.  He whirled around with a smile that immediately faded into shocked concern.

“Blimey Hermione,” he whispered.  “What happened?”

Hermione managed a laugh for his face, before beckoning him in to sit.  To be honest, she had no idea how to begin.

“A lot of things have happened,” Hermione whispered.  “I'm just trying to find out how to start.”

Swallowing, she drew out the ring from her pocket.  Twisting it between her fingers, she bit her lip, watching it.

“I'm 25,” Hermione said, looking up, catching Ron's anguished expression looking at the ring before it changed to confusion.

“So?  So, you lied about your age?” Ron asked.

“No,” Hermione said looking at the ring again.  “I've been away for a year.  I went back in time, but I was stuck there for a year.  I'm older.

“I, I went back to save someone.  That's why I've been distracted since Lovegood’s presentation, because he apparently witnessed me back in time, saving someone.  I spent months trying to figure out who and why, looking for how I did it and how I was going to do it.  I saved…” Hermione cleared her throat roughly.  “That doesn't matter right now, but what matters is that it gave me unique challenges.  I was working in labs, I was surrounded by books, existing turned into a challenge.  I felt alive like I haven't in so long,” Hermione said.  “I was doing what I dreamed of doing and I hadn’t even known what I was missing.”

“Wh-what are you saying,” Ron said, his voice choked up.

“I'm saying,” Hermione took a shaky breath.  “I was wrong.  I was wrong to go off on my own and not consider you.  But what was worse, at the time it didn't occur to me to include you.  I should have wanted to.  I just don't know if this will work.”

“I see,” Ron said, looking at his hands.  

Hermione choked back her apologies.  Apologising now would seem so insincere.  Looking down at the ring again, she bit her lip and then extended it to him and he flinched.

“You,” Ron had to stop and clear his throat before trying again.  “You should keep it.  I gave it to you, after all.”

“I couldn't,” Hermione said, fighting her own lump in her throat.  “Please?”

Ron took the ring very carefully from her fingers and then stood up.  He slipped it in his pocket quickly before walking to the door.  Hermione watched him stop and braced herself for harsh words or blame when he turned back to face her.

“Was it me?” Ron asked.  His eyes were shiny and his voice tight.  “I mean, could I have fixed it?  Or was this just wrong and the end inevitable?”

Hermione stood, swaying and catching herself on the side of the chair.  She didn't mean to be completely pitiable, but it had certainly worked to her advantage.

“I don't know,” she whispered.  “I think it would have ended like this eventually.  Either you or I would have clashed over something and had it boil over into something worse.  It wasn't your fault.”

Ron laughed.  The self-deprecating sound made Hermione want to cry.

“It wasn't my fault.  It was just me,” Ron said, shaking his head and for a terrifying second Hermione thought he might start crying.  “Not anything I did, just who I am.  Story of my life I suppose.”

“Ron…” Hermione said, tearing up.

“No, no it's fine,” he said, backing up toward the door.  “I get it.  I don't blame you, truly.  It's fine.”

And just like that, the man that she had wanted to end up with for most of her childhood left.  The door closing behind him acted like some sort of trigger, because it closed and Hermione collapsed back to the couch and cried.

It was stupid.  She realized that rather quickly.  Crookshanks certainly helped by choosing that moment to leap into her lap and try to lick the salty tears from her face, making her laugh wetly.  She was crying over old dreams, not Ron.  What was worse was when she realized that, she didn't even feel bad.  This of course made her feel terrible, because she should have felt worse.

“Get a grip Hermione,” she whispered.  “Feeling bad about not feeling bad about something is stupid.”

It was a feeling that she couldn't shake though.  After the tears had passed, all she could feel was relieved.  She knew that there was probably something wrong with her because of that, but her logical mind gave her an easy excuse.  She had mentally broken her engagement months ago, she had only just formalized it.

Crookshanks head-butted her hand firmly before jumping off the couch and heading for the kitchen.  Looking at the clock, Hermione sighed.  She could neglect herself all she liked, but she couldn't let him go hungry.  As she busied about the kitchen, she started puzzling over her problem.

How was it possible for Severus to have an interview tomorrow?  What employer would be willing to set something up within 24 hours?  As she set Crookshanks's food on the floor, she thought about the necessary presumptions.  

First, the employer most likely communicated with Severus today, which meant they either were at their place of business on a Sunday or Severus knew them enough to communicate with them at home.  Second, the employer either accepted him using a nome de plume or would not have blinked an eye at a dead man coming back to life.  Her bets were on the former.  If using a nome de plume, then he was possibly using Ifanis Princeps who had an established reputation.  Third, that within the scant hours between him leaving her, he had managed to reach a decision and act on it when he had been unable to make a decision in the months before.

Every presumption had problems with it, but if she didn't give herself parameters, of some sort she wouldn't be able to narrow anything down.  Realizing another option, that maybe he had set up the interview much earlier, she made a dash to her library shelf.  An hour later, she was able to make a foreign Floo call.

“Hermione!” Lucia beamed at her.  

“Lucia, I need help.  Can I ask you something?” Hermione asked.

Immediately, her entire posture changed and the woman's face went stormy as she asked, “What's he done?”

Hermione chuckled uncomfortably, before she replied, “He's gone missing.  Actually, he's gone home.  Apparently, he has an interview for a job tomorrow.  I was hoping he mentioned something?”

From the absolutely livid expression on the older woman’s face, Hermione knew the answer before she spoke.

“He has barely spoken at all for a month, he mentioned no plans to me.  And if he's not talking to you, he certainly will be hearing from me as soon as he surfaces,” her voice had descended into a growl by the end, the Italian accent layering on thick and somehow making her words even more menacing.

“I'll let you know when he does then,” Hermione said.

“Be sure you do.  I will happily throttle the  _ stupido nasone,”  _ she hissed.

Somehow, Lucia's anger had helped calm her fears.  It also brought her back to her very limited options.  A niggling thought kept clammering in the back of her mind.  It had been one she had initially dismissed, but it would be familiar to him.  Looking at the relatively late hour, she wondered if she dared wake the formidable woman or just risk being wrong tomorrow.  When she finally dropped off to sleep, her nerves were shot from the constant fear and adrenaline.

The next morning, Hermione woke before the sun, heart already hammering.  Opening her wardrobe, she looked through her witch's robes.  She was still a horror at housekeeping spells.  But they needed a little something.  It would be chillier there, she justified in her mind as she slipped into the warm velvet robes.  Stroking the fabric indulgently, she changed their color with a wave of her wand.  Her hair she fussed at for an hour, making it perfect.  Make-up was light and professional except for smoky eyes.  

One last look in the mirror made her frown.  Cosmetics helped to hide the fact that she still looked I'll, but her robes were now baggy in the wrong places.  Irritation blended into pleasure though as she drove back into her closet for a final touch.

It was so early when she Apparated into Hogsmeade that she didn't see a single person.  Grateful for that, her early morning walk to the castle was a peaceful one.  Still a ways from the gates, she sent out her Patronus with a message.  Thankfully, as the sky was finally turning from pink to blue, there was a wizard waiting for her at the gate.

“Blimey Hermione, you do know what time it is?” Neville asked.

Hermione grinned as she answered, “I'm perfectly aware.  And I am also aware that a certain professor is always in his greenhouses at such times.”

As he opened the gate for her she watched him take her in with a quizzical expression on his face.  Hermione kept her eyes forward though her lips were twitching with a barely contained smile.

“I feel like there's a question I should be asking here,” Neville said.  “But I have no idea what it is.”

Hermione laughed.  “That's because you're smart, Neville.”

“But you are really here to see Minerva?” Neville asked, his voice filled with curious skepticism.

“Yes,” Hermione said, still laughing.  

Neville sighed and lost the almost accusatory glance, “Then it's good you came early.  The train is coming in before lunch.”

“Do you know if she has any meetings before that?” Hermione asked.

“Not a clue.  Certainly couldn't be any this early though,” Neville said before his eyes narrowed and he looked at her.  “Why?”

“Just a suspicion I hope she'll confirm,” Hermione said before coming to a stop before the guardian of the Head’s office.  “Do you know the password?”

“This week it's Eostre,” Neville said as the statute started to move.  “Are you going to tell me what's going on?”

Hermione stepped onto the moving stairs with a grin, waiting until she nearly disappeared to say, “No.”

Her flippancy act lasted only until she entered the office.  Swallowing hard, she looked around nervously as if Severus might have already been here.  The portraits were shifting about in their frames, though most of them were asleep.  Looking up, she saw Albus’s portrait fully for the first time.  Minerva was nowhere to be seen.  Suddenly she was filled with all the righteous fury that she had been suppressing down in the dungeons.  Filled to the brim and overflowing.  Not caring if she woke the other portraits, she strode up to the desk and glared up at the sleeping wizard.

“Albus Dumbledore,” she said clearly, pleased with the menacing tone that she was able to convey.

Dumbledore didn't wake, though some of the nearby portraits did.  Hermione felt the anger in her rise as the conversations began to replay in her mind.  Her anger helped to chase away her fears and anxieties of the past day and she seized it.

“So help me Headmaster, if you do not wake to hear what I have to say now, Minerva will end up walking in on us and I dare say you wouldn't like sharing an office with her after I am done,” Hermione said fiercely, planting her hands firmly on the desk.

Though her voice had never risen, it seemed that now all of the portraits were now awake.  The ones who had been before had rushed to wake all of the ones who were sleeping.  In fact, the only one now asleep was the portrait directly in front of her.

“You'd best wake Albus,” came a snide and sarcastic voice that Hermione immediately recognized.  “I've seen her like this before and I believe a hex may be forthcoming if you don't cooperate.”

Hermione's eyes flew upwards to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus.  Confused as to why he might now be helping her, he merely nodded at her before his eyes once again drifted to Dumbledore.  Hermione looked and sure enough, he seemed to be waking.

“Miss Granger,” he said finally.  “How kind of you to-”

“Save it,” Hermione spat with a glance over her shoulder to the other door leading into the office.  “For Minerva's sake, I will be brief.  I doubt you've told her all the things that I now know you were capable of, but let me tell you, sir, that I know and I think it was despicable.”

Dumbledore frowned at her and tilted his head to the side.  The puzzlement looking so nearly genuine that if she didn't know better, she might have believed it.  She knew how often Harry had believed him.

“You knew about the Curse,” Hermione said.  “And you made him cast it.  You knew what it could do, and you did it, made  _ him _ do it, and I think it's despicable.  You played on his loyalty, his courage, his sense of justice, and made him do terrible things and then you didn't even have the mind to  _ know _ what you had made him do.  And  _ then _ you died.  Spared yourself judgement, did you?  Well I think that is a coward's way out.  A  _ coward's _ way out, do you hear me?  I thought after what Harry saw that maybe if I died I'd confront you then, question you then, about all the pawns you sacrificed, the moves you'd made, the people you used, but no.  Couldn't have that could we?”

Hermione didn't realize it, but her voice had grown in strength and volume as she continued, “Did you care for the tools that you used?  Did you even care that Harry might have died?  Don't give me any rubbish about knowing he would have survived.  It was unknown magic and you knew that.  You gambled, he won, nothing more, am I right?”

Silence fell and only then did she realize how harsh her breathing sounded.  Hermione closed her eyes, fighting dizziness.  She was still not well.  When she opened them, Dumbledore had gone.

“Bloody fucking coward,” Hermione muttered quietly to the empty room.

“Who my dear?”

Hermione whirled and then had to catch herself on the edge of the desk as spots danced in front of her vision.  Minerva closed the door behind her and strode over, taking Hermione's chin in her hand.

“You're still not well, Hermione dear,” she said before clucking her tongue.  “I do hope you will let Poppy take a look at you before you go.”

“Just fatigue,” Hermione said.

“For a moment I thought you were our mystery applicant,” Minerva said before taking her seat behind her desk and gesturing for Hermione to sit.  “You're certainly dressed the part.”

Hope flared brilliantly in her chest at the older woman's words.  Hermione leaned forward in her chair.

“Mystery applicant?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Minerva said, gesturing in Hermione's direction.  “With you green robes, silver belt, I would have thought, from the back anyway, you might be the person.”

“When is your appointment?” Hermione asked.  “What post?”

“Well, Slughorn is still trying to retire on me and several Potions Masters have applied to the post, but it's more difficult to find anyone willing to take over as Head of Slytherin house,” Minerva said her voice growing sad.  “And when someone applied yesterday afternoon I-”

Abruptly, she cut off and it was like she was seeing Hermione for the first time.

“Why is it you are here, Hermione?” Minerva asked.

Hermione smiled at her timidly, hopefully.  Minerva clapped a hand to her mouth and she watched as tears rose behind her spectacles.  She stood quickly, turning around.  A few moments passed before she turned around again.

“You think it's Severus,” Minerva said in a choked voice.  “You think he's coming here.”

“I hope so,” Hermione said, her own fears rushing forward to near tears in the face of the older woman’s emotions.

Minerva nodded, too quickly and nearly upsetting her spectacles.  Looking at a clock on her desk, she swallowed, collecting herself.

“Our appointment is in an hour,” she said, before she took a breath.  “Which means tea.  And food.  Merlin, you look like you're starved.”

The two women drank and ate, discussing any topic that they couldn't be traced back to Severus, but inevitably, that's the direction it went.

“So you worked together on it?  He's always had such a brilliant mind.  But  _ Mors Potestas _ , that explains so much of the last year,” Minerva said thoughtfully.

Her gaze went back once more to the clock as she sat down her teacup with an audible click.  Hermione drew her wand.  Tapping the chair, she grew its back so that it now dwarfed her.  Minerva raised an eyebrow.

“Hm, a touch of melodrama Hermione?” she asked.  

“I don't want him seeing me right away,” Hermione said defensively, fluffing the edge of her robes so that they could be visible from behind the chair off to the side.

“I might not have thought it before, but the pair of you seem shockingly well suited,” Minerva said shrewdly, before looking up abruptly at the doorway.

Hermione felt sick. Her heart was pounding and her stomach was threatening to reject the meager breakfast she had shared with Minerva.  She watched the older woman's face as her expression dropped suddenly and Hermione abruptly found herself wanting to cry.  It wasn't Severus.  Panic seized her as she listened to the footsteps come closer.  But if it wasn't him, then where was he?  A slight pop came from the desk, making Hermione look up to see a very familiar coffee carafe appear on Minerva's desk.  Then several things happened at once.

Minerva stood, forced sounding words of greeting on her lips.  Hermione realized the significance of the carafe appearing and gripped the arms of her chair.  The wizard came level with her chair.

“And it is a pleasure to see you again, Headmistress,” came the wizard's voice, smooth and pleasant.  “I did suppose when you accepted that I was the only applicant but…”

He had looked down.  Hermione locked gazes with the foreign face, the grey-green eyes, and took a risk.  She  _ pushed. _  Abruptly, she felt Severus in her head again and the wizard staggered back from her in surprise.  Hermione jumped to her feet.

“Severus Snape, you bloody  _ arse _ ,” she practically shrieked, hating how shrill her nerves had made her voice.

Her vision tunneled and all she could do was see the man in front of her, feel him in her head again, surprised, shocked, and near panic.

“What the hell were you thinking?  Do you have  _ any _ idea what the past 24 hours have been like for me?” Hermione said, stalking forward.  “I woke up from a coma, was yelled at by you for  _ nothing. _  And I know you didn't mean it, you absolute  _ idiot _ , but then I obviously had some nerve didn't I? Trying to get things ready?  I had to get to my parents which meant a lot of bloody Apparating and Floo travel.  They're coming in at Heathrow tomorrow, which you would have known if you hadn't thrown a bloody shitfit.”

In her periphery, she saw Minerva discreetly bowing out of the room.  The transformed Severus simply stood there, looking at her through a perfectly calm, bored looking mask which would have made her even angrier if she hadn't been feeling all of the rolling emotions if him in her head again.

“Couldn't have bloody waited, could you?  Do you know what it was  _ like _ for me?  To feel you and then suddenly you were angry and then I  _ couldn't _ anymore?  Dammit Severus, I was t-terrified!” Hermione gasped out finally, startling herself as she started crying.  She covered her eyes with her hands.  “I thought, I, I have no idea what I thought, but it had me going to Lucia and the Malfoys.  Dammit, I was at Astoria Greengrass’s house with Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa  _ Malfoy. _  Do you have any idea what that was like?”

Hermione barely smothered the sob, dropping her hands to her sides as she continued through tears, “I went to the  _ Malfoys _ .  The last time I'd been that close to them I had been on the floor under the wand of Bellatrix  _ fucking _ Lestrange!”

“I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up, but I had to take care of my parents.  I had to talk to Harry and Ginny and Ron, and you are an  _ idiot!”  _ she finished, smacking him hard on the arm.

“You're not wearing it,” he said.

“ _ What?! _ ” Hermione asked.

“You're,” Severus's voice sounded strangled.  “You're not wearing it.”

“Wearing  _ what  _ Severus _?” _ Hermione asked, glad that she was angry now.

“The ring,” he said.

For a moment, all she could do was gape at him.  Comprehension dawned slowly and her anger flared when she finally understood.

“My  _ ring? _ ” Hermione said.  “You thought.  How.  You thought as soon as I had recovered I would have run straight back to  _ Ron _ ?”

She could feel a strange mix of emotions coming from him, but she couldn't, and didn't want to, interpret them.  She couldn't think past the revelation that had just slapped her in the face.

“I don't know if I should be insulted on my behalf or yours!” she said when she could finally speak.  “Did you think so meanly of me that I'd give up on you after you decided to have a case of verbal diarrhea?  Or did you think so little of yourself that as soon as I could I ran off and left you for someone else?  Honestly, what could you have possibly been-”

Hermione stopped as Severus took her face in his hands and then kissed her.  It took a moment for her shock to wear off but then she was kissing him back fiercely.  For a minute, she reveled in the feel of his emotions back in her head as his lips moved over hers before she pulled away.

Severus looked at her and she could feel his heart pounding against the hands she had placed on his chest.

“I don't like you like this,” Hermione said, gesturing to his face and hair.

Severus looked over at the clock as he answered, “It will only last two minutes more.”

“Two?” Hermione started, puzzled before she laughed.  “You wanted to become Severus Snape in front of her.  Were you aiming to give her a heart attack?”

“No,” he said.

Hermione couldn't help it.  She started laughing.  He had sounded nearly petulant, like a child tricked out of a treat.  Once she started laughing, she couldn't stop.  The hysteria fueled by the hours of near constant worry bled into laughter.  At first, Severus had felt injured, almost angry, before he seemed to take the better route and chuckled along with her.

Wiping her eyes as the laughter subsided, Hermione watched as his hair darkened, his skin paled, his face changed, and his eyes darkened once again to black.  The smile on her face turned soft as she reached up to stroke his cheek tenderly.  He closed his eyes with that near pained look he had had before.  Then he stiffened and pulled away.

“Ah yes, remembered we were here did you?” came the drawling sarcastic voice once again from his portrait.

Severus turned to look at the portraits.  Hermione lost the embarrassment she had initially felt as she watched all of the portraits come to their feet in their frames.   The whole room took on a very solemn tone.  A plump witch in Healer's robes started to clap.  She felt Severus in her head.  His face had returned to that very neutral mask, but the sheer torrent of emotions made her start to cry.  As more of the portraits continued to clap, Hermione slipped her hand in his.  He gripped it so tightly that it was painful.  It was the only outward sign that the approval of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses affected him at all.

A lighter clapping from behind them made them turn to see Minerva coming in from the doorway she had disappeared through.  When they turned, she stopped clapping and clasped her hands in front of her.  The hand around Hermione's spasmed and then tightened.

“Minerva,” he began.

The older woman strode across the room and he flinched seconds before she hugged him.  Hermione tried to pull away, but his hand didn't release her.

“Severus,” she said wetly finally pulling away.  “I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Severus said and Hermione could feel his genuine confusion through the haze of other emotions.

“I...I believed terrible things of you Severus.  We all did,” Minerva said.

“Of course you did woman,” Severus said, clearly uncomfortable.  “I would have been a poor spy if anyone suspected.”

“I still shouldn't have doubted you,” Minerva said through tears.

“Pure Gryffindor sentimentality,” Severus said, but his voice was rough.  “You believing it saved my life and the well-being of all of your students.”

Minerva took a steadying breath and shook her head stubbornly, though she clearly knew better and dropped it.  She spared a glance to Albus's empty frame before she seated herself behind her desk.  Realizing the focus had changed, Severus let go of Hermione's hand, giving all of his attention to the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

“Now,” she said, back to the strong demeanor that had dominated classrooms for decades.  “Were you serious in your request to rejoin us?”

Severus sat and Hermione mirrored him in the second chair.  Her mind went numb as the pair discussed his future plans, his dislike of Slughorn's handling of his students, and his extreme disappointment that there had been not a single Slytherin Cup victory.

“Come Minerva, your Chosen One has left.  There is no more last minute doling out of points to tilt scales.  And certainly there is now a better Seeker than Malfoy,” Severus said derogatorily.

“There would be a great many things I would need to apprise you of if you returned,” Minerva said quietly, and Hermione felt a quiet understanding pass between them.

“And how soon would I be taking over for your current sitting Slytherin head?” Severus asked.

“Now, if you could stomach it,” she said with a laugh, “Though I know that it would be nearly imposs-”

“Done,” Severus replied decisively, and only her connection with him told Hermione that he had doubts.

“Severus!” Minerva said severely.  “Please tell me that this is more than a flair for the dramatic on your side.  You would need to prepare lessons, learn a whole new set of students’ names…”

“As you were not shocked by my little charade and appearance earlier, I can only assume that it was because H-Miss Granger has told you my little survivor's tale,” he said, waiting for her nod.  “Then you know that I have been residing in the castle for some time.  My nocturnal habits hadn't changed so obscenely.”

“So it was you stalking students and halls?” Minerva said sharply.

“Don't scold Minerva,” Severus said condescendingly.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack on more than one occasion,” Minerva snapped at him.

“Irritability is bad for you Minerva,” Severus said.  “Heaven knows that the hairballs coughed up over the years must have been sufficient enough to curb that tendency.”

Minerva colored a bit in anger before she caught herself with her mouth open and closed it with a snap.  Slowly, her shoulders shook in suppressed laughter until some of it bubbled out from her lips.  She waved her hands at him in dismissal.

“Go on you difficult man, before I change my mind and revoke my end of the offer,” she said amiably.  

Severus stood and bowed curtly to her, the smile of amusement curling his mouth was so small and yet so genuine that it made something warm and soft blossom in Hermione’s chest.  For all his appearance to his students and fellow Order members, she knew in that moment that Minerva had missed him as a friend.

“And Severus,” Minerva said as Hermione was also rising to leave.  “Do you know how much time you will need to prepare?”

“If Horace is amenable to taking another retirement, I should be ready by week’s end.  I refuse, however, to be held to my usual standards,” Severus said as he scowled.  “There is no telling how much I will have to reteach in the few months I have left with his students.”

“I’m sure you will scare those into rising to your expectations, even if they wouldn’t be so inclined before,” Minerva said, a smile of understanding and amusement on her face as Severus smirked.  “I take it you would like a grand entrance?”

Severus scoffed, “Of course not.  The Great Hall at supper should suffice.”

“Next Monday night?” Minerva asked, a trace of almost George Weasley slipping into her voice.

“My heart is all aflutter with anticipation,” he said with such a degree of sarcasm and derision that Minerva smirked and Hermione laughed.

Her laugh seemed to attract the attention of them both as if they'd forgotten she was present.  She both felt and saw the way that Severus softened as he looked at her.

“If you don't mind terribly Minerva, might I Floo to my chambers?” Severus asked.

“Of course.  I'm sure Hermione won't mind holding back with me for a moment and coming round to see you the long way?”

After she watched Severus leave, Hermione turned back around to see a very shrewd expression on Minerva's face as she looked at her.

“I shall keep my suspicions to myself, yes?” Minerva asked.  “I trust you know your way to the dungeons the long way around?”

“I do,” Hermione said, refusing to feel embarrassment over Severus.  “Is there a reason you didn't want me leaving with him?”

“I have reason to believe that there may be a teacher lurking outside this office with a raging case of curiosity.  It wouldn't hurt to begin rumors of a potential new addition to the staff, would it now?” Minerva asked mischievously.

Hermione grinned, “Not at all.” 


	38. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept this as a gift and a penance. I have had a rough few months with family health problems, job problems, house problems... ugh. Just rough months. Though hopefully a reason for a rating bump will help? ;)

Hermione left the Head’s office buoyed and almost lighter than air.  Though she knew that she was doubtlessly still in shock over everything that had transpired, she felt less shaky and weak than she had this morning.  She needed food still, and probably more rest, but the thought of getting to Severus who was at the moment back in the dungeons, waiting for her, stirred a whole new set of nerves that she didn’t know she possessed.

“‘Mione!” Neville appeared from around the corner, startling her.

“Neville!” Hermione cried, pulling herself up short.  “What are you still doing here?”

Neville looked a bit sheepish,  “I helped see that other wizard to the office and gave him the password.  I was more curious when you didn’t come down.  I was hoping you’d tell me who he was.”

Hermione tried to smother the smile again at the thought of Severus waiting for her and knew she didn’t succeed when Neville looked at her suspiciously again.  She started walking, trying for nonchalant as she turned the corner of a passage.

“You’re not going to tell me are you?” Neville asked.  “How do you know him?  Could you at least give me a hint?”

Hermione stopped finally as a devious smirk settled on her face before she turned to face him.

“I will give you more than that,” Hermione said, as her smirk turned more into a conspirator’s grin.  She leaned closer and lowered her voice.  “I will tell you that he’ll be replacing someone relatively soon, and that you have met him before this.  He just looked different when last you saw him.”

Neville looked even more confused than when she had started talking, but there was more to it now.  He was scrutinizing her face like he could somehow read the secret there.  Hermione didn't give an inch, but she couldn't help wishing him gone.  Thankfully, they were interrupted by the arrival of a gaggle of students laughing and showing each other souvenirs from their break.  They came upon the pair of them and abruptly stopped talking.

“Professor Longbottom!” the oldest girl squeaked out, managing to duck something back into her bag, but not quick enough to hide the bright label.

Hermione grinned at her friend as he began an interrogation of them both, nice though he was about it.  Both Hermione and Neville knew the possible ramifications of rogue and unknown WWW products in the castle.

When Hermione finally made it to the dungeons she had had to pass four different groups of curious Slytherins looking her way.  She had nodded to them and smiled, but they had looked at her haughty and indifferent, except for a first year who had looked first terrified, and then shocked.  She had looked vaguely familiar, but Hermione hadn’t known what to make of that 

Finally she stood in front of the tapestry guarding his private quarters.  It felt like ages ago since she had seen it.  So much had changed.  Raising her hand to it, she felt the nerves in her stomach double their efforts at escape and she had to wait until she swallowed them back down.  She had no idea what to expect.  She had wanted to kill him, throttle him, kiss him, hold him, hit him, and cry hysterically on his shoulder, all within such a short span of hours.  Unfortunately, she knew that if she waited until she had her emotions and thoughts under better control, she might run and not look back.  She couldn’t do that.  

Pressing her palm to the the tapestry, she whispered, “Memento mori.”

Hermione knew that those were the right words, but she also knew that there had been a blood payment from Severus before.  She had been hoping she hadn’t had to, but the mundane looking tapestry spoke differently.  Feeling very much like she was proving herself, Hermione drew her wand.  A short burst of magic set her finger bleeding and she traced the stump of the Green Knight’s neck with it and tried again.

At the password this time, the tapestry split and drew aside.  The door opened as she passed through.  Her heart was pounding so hard, she could feel in her ears and in her neck.  A fine trembling had started up in her legs that she couldn’t seem to stop.

Severus wasn’t in the sitting room.  It seemed to be exactly as it had been before.  She couldn’t immediately put her finger on what was wrong.  She walked forward to the sofa, brushing fingers along the back of it.  There had been fine scratches in the cloth before, from Crookshanks making himself comfortable.  The cushions had also had been noticeably worn on the right side from him sleeping there so often.  It was too perfect, too clean.  

Her heart clenched as she walked around the back of “her” chair and gripped it, rocking it from side to side.  Before one leg had been slightly uneven.  It had shifted with her when she had changed positions.  Now they were level.

“Back at last then,” came the low voice behind her, making her close her eyes and her legs start to shake almost violently.  She locked them to keep the shaking from becoming noticeable as she awkwardly turned around.

“I would have been sooner,” Hermione said.  “If someone hadn’t decided to be an idiot.”

Severus had the audacity to smirk.  The shaking seemed completely present as Hermione crossed her arms defensively over her chest to keep her hands steady and give them something to do.  He was back in his black, though this time with only a waistcoat over his white shirt.  He hadn’t finished buttoning either and Hermione had to desperately frown at his face to keep from her gaze being dragged down to the shocking amount of skin showing around his neck to the hollow between collarbones.

“You wish to begin this courtship with insults?” Severus asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his voice deepening.  “What about the other being so uncourteous as to vanish without a trace or reason?”

“I had planned on returning, but unfortunately someone had switched out all the locks!” Hermione said hotly.

“Which I would not have done if there had been any indication of you wishing to return,” Severus said, keeping his temper uncharacteristically well.

“I…,” Hermione felt a pulse of something in her head.  “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Severus drawled, smirking and shifting his arms across his chest, which stretched the gap that he had left with undone buttons.

Hermione swallowed hard.  This was it.  The precipice.  Both healthy, well, awake, and neither under threat.  And they were very, very much alone.  Suddenly presented with the opportunity and the growing tension in the air and in the emotions flooding her from both of them, she found herself frozen.  

He was deliberately teasing her.  The man that she wouldn’t have thought had a self-confident bone in his body for seduction was actually teasing her.  She couldn’t reconcile the man who had so desperately clung to her on the sofa behind her with the man casually lounging against the wall in front of her.  Heat flooded her as she watched him just watch her, and with it came chills.  She shivered under the scrutiny.  He seemed to know it had nothing to do with cold because the feeling of heat within her doubled.

Severus pushed off from the wall, freeing his arms to his sides as he walked towards her.  Hermione’s breathing was reaching near hyperventilation as he drew close and she looked up at him.  Her eyes flicked down to his mouth before looking up again, but more than that she still couldn’t do.

One pale hand reached out and stroked her cheek so gently that Hermione relaxed into it, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath.  Apparently he didn’t feel the need to speak any further as the heat that had been nearly overwhelming to her before cooled and was replaced by a deep pain in her chest.  Her heart ached with it and she opened her eyes.

Severus kissed her.  The hand that had been stroking her cheek now cupped her face, threading back into her hair.  Shivering, Hermione kissed him back.  Releasing her crossed arms, she brought them hesitantly around his waist.  Feeling him smiling against her mouth, she drew back so she could see it.

“What changed?” Hermione said softly, nearly in awe at the gentle expression there.  “We’re here, doing this.  You suddenly are going to be back at Hogwarts.  What changed?”

“You came looking for me,” Severus said, and only living with him long enough made Hermione dismiss that as the full answer, no matter how sincere the answer was.

“That’s not why,” Hermione started to object but fingers came to cover her lips.

“Must you constantly ask questions?” he asked with a trace of his old irritation in his voice, but the feeling of humor in her mind belied it.

“Yes,” she began and tried objecting further when his mouth covered hers again.

For minutes, all they did was stand, pressed together.  Both mouths exploring, and yet hands hesitantly moving but only exploring safe and previously touched places.  Severus trailed his hands down her arms and took her hands from his waist.  Placing a last, gentle kiss to her lips, he took a step backwards, drawing her back with him.

Hermione swallowed, eyes flicking back to the doorway behind him that led to his bedroom and gently resisted his pull.  Severus froze, his body stilling almost at once and for the first time since she had entered, she felt hesitation from him.  He dropped her hands finally and crossed his arms.

“If you have doubts, I understand.  I would not pressure you to go where you have no desire,” Severus said.  His words were bitter and cutting, nearly angry.

“No!” Hermione said, stumbling forward a bit on her still shaky legs.  “There’s no doubts.  I just.  What is this?  There’s still so much to do.  The world still thinks you’re dead!”

Puzzlement shot through him, followed by irritation, until he said, “Do you always think things through this much?  What does my being dead or alive have anything to do with this?”

“I…” Hermione swallowed.  Now that they weren’t kissing, she was once again nervous.  She couldn’t even understand fully  _ why _ she was nervous, but she was nearly terrified.  She wasn’t afraid of him.  She wasn’t a virgin, for Merlin’s sake, why was she feeling this?  She hadn’t been this terrifyingly insecure in years.

Hermione finally made some inarticulate and helpless sound.  What was her hangup?  Severus was his own bundle of emotions and she could barely figure them out.  Why couldn’t she just delete the last five minutes and have just gone with him quietly?  In front of her, Severus had obviously come to some sort of decision.  She felt the determination before he closed the distance between them again.

This time the desire that had been simmering between them broke and crashed, drowning her.  Severus kissed her nearly violently, his arms swooped around her back, lifting her off her feet and bringing her up to his height, crushed to his chest. Reflexively, her arms ended up around his neck.  Hermione made small whimpering noises into his mouth, as she tried desperately to kiss him back as he kissed her.  Somehow, he managed to carry her into the bedroom and kick the door closed behind him.

Hermione let her doubts go and surrendered to sensations.  Her legs hit the bed and she felt him pause and smile against her mouth before unceremoniously dumping her backwards.  She hit the covers with an undignified yelp, glaring up at him.  The confident smirk on his face made her swallow the indignation she felt and she shivered.

They ended up pressed together on the bed, him supporting himself on one elbow above her.  The slow kisses melted into each other making Hermione dizzy.  Somehow, she had let go of her intelligence and over-thinking and surrendered to the sensations.  His hand at her belt made her stiffen, but his head ducked down and he started tonguing and kissing the side of her neck, making her whimper, and she relaxed again.

For every move forward, Severus would not push further until she relaxed.  He slowly started undoing the silver buttons of her dress robes one-handed.  The robes parted to her waist from the buttons, but he made no moves to shift positions to strip them from her completely.  In fact, his goal didn’t seem like most goals of men with women in bed.  Namely, to get them naked as quickly as possible.  All of the exposed skin that he could reach, he stroked, massaged, and brushed over with his fingers, purposefully only skimming over her breasts.  It made her arch into his hands as they teased her.  

Only when he was kissing down her neck to her collarbone did she feel the fingers of his other hand rubbing circles into her back, inching nearer and nearer to her bra strap.  She could feel his fingers manage to open it through her robes.  She let out a brief and impressed laugh, but it quickly turned into a gasp as he pushed her bra up and away and started to kiss the undersides of her breasts.

His mouth’s attentions completely distracted her from his hand’s motive and she hadn't noticed until her robes had been drawn up to her knees that he had been doing it.  She tensed again as she felt his fingers on the bare skin of her leg, but then his mouth came up and he slid his hand up to her bare hip at the same moment he parted her lips with his tongue.

The dizzying flood of sensations kept her so distracted that when his fingers gripped and massaged her hip, her hips lifted and twitched in response, instinctively angling so to direct him to where she really wanted his fingers.  Her hands fisted the sheets as she whimpered into his kisses.  Her one hand was mostly trapped by his body but she managed to reach up and grip the back of his waistcoat with it.  She wanted to speak somehow, but was grateful that he never gave her a chance.

When his fingers started moving downwards, Hermione moaned and flexed her hips, but he seemed determined to draw things out.  Dipping low, Severus massaged her inner thigh instead.  He brushed over the bit of satin with the back of his fingers and moved to smooth over her stomach.  She groaned her frustration half into his mouth and she thought she felt him smirk before he ducked his head down to press kisses to her neck.

Severus continued to work his way down her neck, nudging fabric out of the way with his nose and mouth.  Hermione shifted, like she would try and sit up and shrug out of the top of her robes, when Severus pressed his fingers against the spot between her legs that made her gasp and shudder, collapsing fully back down.  He started with slow, deliberate pressure, building into slow circles, completely taking up her mind.  

Hermione barely noticed his body shifting down on the bed before he removed his fingers and both hands were at her hips, removing her underwear with a casual toss.  She wasn't given much time to register the loss before the pressure was back.  One hand was on her hip, but it was his tongue stroking now.  The warm heat made her hips flex up into his hand.  Her breathing seemed harsh and loud in the quiet of the room.

One of his arms came to hold her hips down as his tongue continued slow pressured circles.  She shivered and tensed against his restricting arm.  When one long finger slipped inside her, she tensed and gasped again.  Severus only gave her a moment before he began to move it carefully, curling it up inside her and drawing out a long moan.  Hermione shuddered as he managed to find the spot inside of her with miraculous ease that made her chest tight and gooseflesh appear all over her.  The pleasure coiled even tighter as he added a second finger to the constant stroking, all the while his tongue continuing to build and build the pleasure even higher.

Hermione could feel herself nearing the cliff, ever closer, and she felt herself struggle, her leg muscles tightening and clenching around him.  Even as she neared the edge, she felt herself held back.  She let out a frustrated whimper as her hips pushed up against his arm again.  Faster, she wished that he would only go just a bit faster and it would push her over.

Somehow he knew, because a moment later, Severus adjusted his head and mouth and picked up speed.  Hermione’s breathing picked up, nearing hyperventilation as all of her muscles tensed.  

“S-Severus,” she managed to gasp out in warning.

In response, Severus tightened his grip on her hips and sped up even faster.  Hermione’s body tensed so hard she would have lifted off the bed if not for his hold on her and she screamed as pleasure crashed through her mind over and over again, her body shaking in spasms as Severus somehow managed to draw out her orgasm with the fingers stroking inside of her.

Hermione collapsed backwards on the bed, shaky and exhausted.  Blinking tired eyes, she saw Severus crawling up the bed to her and she tried to weakly reach out to the buttons on his waistcoat but he caught her hands in his.  Her eyes flew up to his and was shocked to see the depth of feeling in them that she had never really seen before.  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently.

“Sleep,” Severus whispered to her and she hated how much she was grateful for that word.

Magic slipped over her and she felt her bra disappear and her robes close.  Severus drew her easily into his chest.  She tucked herself into his side, pillowing her cheek on his chest.  One of his arms stroked her back, the other brushed her wild hair from her face. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest, but all she felt from him was contentment.  Contentment and a warm feeling that she wanted to digest, but she couldn't help but fall into an easy sleep curled into his side.

When Hermione woke, she was alone.  Looking around the dim room, she saw the closed door that must have led to the bathroom and heard running water behind it.  Rubbing tired eyes, she wondered what the protocol here was.  Moving about also made her realise something.  Crawling to the end of the bed, she tried to find where her underwear and bra had ended up.  When she couldn't find them she sighed, rubbing her temples.  She was starting to get a headache.  She wasn't sure, but she would bet she had managed to sleep through lunch.

Taking a gamble, Hermione whispered, “Daniel?”

The house elf appeared next to her on the covers immediately, a giant grin on his face.  The still rather large bruise on his forehead looked yellowish green and ugly, but was clearly healing quickly.  He waved at her happily.

“Could you find me comfortable clothes?” Hermione asked.  “And clean underwear?”

Daniel nodded so enthusiastically that his ears flapped hard against his head before he disappeared again.  Leaning back with a sigh, Hermione tried to smooth the terrible wrinkles in her dress robes.  Shifting, she removed her wand from its pocket.  She was about to summon her undergarments from wherever they were when a long sleeved navy t-shirt and a pair of flannel pyjama pants, folded and clean underwear, and her own black bra on top appeared next to her.  She spared a quick thought for her missing pair before she pulled the new clothes on under her robes, changing as quickly as she could.  When she had changed, Daniel reappeared.

Daniel made a gesture to her and the bathroom door helplessly.

“Forgot to tell you that you could talk to me again, did he?” Hermione asked dryly.

Daniel nodded, but he seemed laughingly happy about the whole thing.  Hermione sighed.

“Go tell him I'm awake then would you?  And could you bring lunch?” Hermione asked, her stomach gurgling.

Daniel grinned and nodded again and disappeared.  Hermione tucked her knees in against her chest, comfortable now and let herself look around fully.  She had been in his room several times since that first night they had slept together, but her mind had not been fully her own.  It seemed different.  His desk especially.  It was similar to the previous one she thought, but not the same.  The bathroom door opened and Hermione winced in the suddenly very bright light.

“Better?” Severus asked after he had dimmed them.

Hermione nodded, wishing she could see his face better but she was still momentarily blinded.  She wanted to ask questions, figure out what was going to lie ahead for both of them.  She wanted to know where he had learned to _do_ that.  What came out was something completely different. 

“You got a new desk?” Hermione asked lamely.  

Immediately, she looked away from him in embarrassment, hating herself for saying something so stupid.  Would it have killed her to start with a compliment?  Say how amazing he was for completely blowing her mind on his first try?  Fortunately, Severus hadn't taken offense.  In fact, as she peered up at him as he walked over, he seemed amused.

“The old one unfortunately had a bit of an accident,” Severus said dryly, sitting next to her on the bed.  “Terrible shame really.”

“You couldn't repair it?  Magically?” Hermione asked.

Severus looked at her with an arched brow as he replied, “Some forces of destruction don't have magical solutions.  Curses used on inanimate objects,for instance.  Though that one was destroyed by a rather inconsiderate witch.  Funny thing that, her managing to wreck furniture without even being present.”

Hermione laughed slightly before leaning into his side, squeezing her knees into her chest.  It made her feel almost childlike, but when his arm came around her to hold her against him she felt anything but.  

“You were amazing,” Hermione whispered, now able to say it without seeing his face.  “How.. nevermind.”

“By all means ask.  I see rather an overabundance of questions in my future, best get used to it now,” he said in his best irritated voice but the humor in his mind made her giggle.

“How did you learn how to do that?”  Hermione asked.

“With practice and natural knack,” Severus said, a trace of smugness in his tone.  “It surely didn't hurt to have been completing a mastery in Rome, in good standing with wealthy pureblood society, with my two closest friends being both female, wildly in love with each other, and more than inclined to teach.”

Hermione immediately stiffened in shock, but didn't yet pull away when she said, “But I thought you and Lucia never…”

“Oh, we never did.  Giulia either for that matter,” Severus said, a bit of smugness at her discomfort creeping in.

“I stick with my previous statement then,” Hermione said, closing her eyes and relaxing into his shoulder.  “Nevermind.”

A few moments passed in silence before Hermione started growing uncomfortable as she thought about another question.  She tried to hold it back, but then she felt Severus sigh.

“A truly novel feeling,” Severus said.  “I now know why you are forever asking questions.  Trying to hold them back is obviously uncomfortable. Ask, Hermione, please.”

“Why didn't you...let me…” Hermione broke off, uncomfortable again.

Severus let out a chuckle, “Because standing up you had looked like a strong breeze would blow you over.  You still need rest.  There's time for that later, should you wish, when you are in better health.  And speaking of better health.”

Pulling away from her gradually, Severus stood and offered her a hand, “You need to eat more to regain your strength.  Come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...please don't hate me too much...  
>  I'm already writing the next chapter!


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